Amsterdam! Amsterdam!
by Celica60
Summary: The BSC accompanies the Kilbournes to Amsterdam. Stacey discovers an underage brothel, Claudia eats magic brownies, Jessi goes rastafarian, and Mallory is a dork. COMPLETE.
1. Prologue

**Amsterdam! Amsterdam!**

Disclaimer: Ann M. _loves_ Amsterdam.

While I don't own _The Baby-Sitters Club _series or its characters, I do own _this_ story and the words and ideas expressed throughout. No part of this story should be reproduced anywhere without my permission. If you don't understand why thenI suggest you read this site's Terms of Service, specifically sections nine and ten.

Rating: T (PG-13) for prostitution, hand jobs, penis pumps, love carrots, Mallory Pike blow up dolls, and other sexual situations.

Summary: When the Kilbourne family inherits a house in Amsterdam, the BSC goes along for a two week vacation in the city of windmills, tulips, and the red-light district.

Author Notes: For all those scratching their heads, Amsterdam is the capital of The Netherlands, which is a country in Europe. (Think Holland, people).

Why would anyone decide to write a Super Special about Amsterdam? Well, back in December, I posted on a message board about the differences between the Dutch-version and the American-version of the BSC series. In the Dutch-version, the Stacey character moves to Amsterdam. I made the comment that if there's a Super Special out there called _Amsterdam! Amsterdam!_ then I want to read it. Shortly after, I received an e-mail from **emerald-doll**, which basically said, "_Amsterdam! Amsterdam!_ must be written."

And so, _Amsterdam! Amsterdam!_ owes its life to **emerald-doll**.

* * *

My younger sisters and I have always joked about someday inheriting the estate of an eccentric long-lost relative. Tiffany fantasizes about a sprawling country manor with enormous gardens full of fountains and statues and fertile soil. Maria dreams of a beach house in Malibu, right next-door to some famous movie stars. Me, I'd like to inherit a ski lodge in Tahoe or a private island in the Caribbean. However, we agree that a Ferrari or some diamonds would be just as exciting. 

Let me pause here and introduce myself. My name is Shannon Louisa Kilbourne. I am thirteen years old and live in the beautiful town of Stoneybrook, Connecticut. My sisters, Tiffany (age eleven), Maria (age eight), and I attend a private school called Stoneybrook Day School (or SDS). We live in a really nice neighborhood. It's sort of ritzy. Okay, the truth is, our family is pretty rich. I don't want to brag or anything. There's a lot more to me than my parents' bank account.

For one thing, I'm a very, very good student. I'm also involved in quite a few activities - french club, astronomy club, honor society. I've done some school plays, too, and numerous other things. I love to keep busy. Unfortunately, I don't have time for much else. Including the Baby-Sitters Club.

The Baby-Sitters Club was started by my friend and neighbor, Kristy Thomas. She's the president. The club meets three times a week from five-thirty to six. During that time, parents can call and reach seven experienced baby-sitters. The other girls in the club are: Claudia Kishi, Stacey McGill, Mary Anne Spier, Abby Stevenson, Mallory Pike, and Jessi Ramsey. I'm an associate member, which means I don't attend meetings. I take jobs when no one else is available. For awhile, I was a full-fledged member and attended meetings regularly. Then, I got busy with school and Abby joined the club. Now, I'm an associate member again. Sometimes, I still attend meetings when I have the time. But, I hardly ever have the time!

It turns out my friends in the Baby-Sitters Club have had the same fantasies as my sisters and I. Stacey has even imagined uncovering the will of a great-great grandmother revealing her to be an exiled princess! No one really expects such dreams to come true though. Sometimes, it's just fun to pretend.

That's what I always told myself, at least. Until three weeks ago.

It was an ordinary Thursday evening in late-June. My family was finishing dinner (for once, Dad was home in time to eat with us) when the telephone rang. Mom went into the den to answer it. When she came back fifteen minutes later her cheeks were tear-streaked.

"Kathy, what's wrong?" Dad asked, alarmed, jumping out of his chair.

"My cousin Saskia is dead!" Mom exclaimed.

Tiffany and Maria looked at me, confused. Obviously, they had never heard Mom speak of her cousin, Saskia Verbruggen. Actually, I don't think Mom had spoken about her to anyone for several years. They had a falling out, but I don't know the details. What I _did_ know is this: Mom and Saskia were first cousins, who grew up together in Amsterdam (that's in Europe). Mom was six years old when her parents immigrated to the U.S. Mom went back to Amsterdam every summer though. Mom spent July in Amsterdam, then Saskia came to the U.S. for the month of August. This continued until they finished college. Then, Mom married and Saskia opened her own business (a travel agency, I think). Saskia visited a couple times when I was little, then the Big Fight happened.

Now, Saskia had died without her and Mom ever making amends. I felt terrible for Mom.

Dad escorted Mom into the den with Tiffany and Maria following at their heels. I went into the kitchen to make Mom a cup of warm, comforting peppermint tea. When I brought the cup into the den, Mom was explaining to Tiffany and Maria about Cousin Saskia. Mom took the tea, smiled gratefully, and sipped it slowly, several tears falling from her eyes. Maria sniffed on the couch. She was probably more upset about Mom being upset than about the death of a second cousin she had never known. Death can be confusing for kids.

"When's the funeral?" I asked, gently.

Mom dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. "That's the worst part, Shanny. There's already been a funeral. It was a month ago!" Mom blew her nose, then dabbed at her eyes again with a clean tissue. "We don't have any family left on your granddad's side. It was just me and Saskia. Of course, we hadn't spoken in seven years, thanks to that ridiculous fight. Her friends buried her and settled most of her affairs. Except for one."

Tiffany and I exchanged a Look. Had we inherited something? Something BIG?

"And, what would that be, dear?" Dad asked.

"Saskia left us the house," Mom replied. "Well, the family house. It's very old. My gosh, at least two hundred years. It sits on the Leliegracht, one of Amsterdam's smaller canals. Verbruggenhuis, it's called. Now, I'm the last Verbruggen."

While Mom wiped her eyes and Dad consoled her, Tiffany, Maria, and I exchanged guilty glances and fought back the urge to squeal in celebration. What wicked, unfeeling girls we were! But, the excitement was beyond our control. We had inherited a house! A house in Amsterdam!


	2. Shannon

_Hello Dad! _

I'm writing this while we're waiting at the airport. We still have half an hour until our flight starts boarding. I'm sorry that you're home alone. At least, you have Astrid for company. I wish you were with us. I'll keep you posted on our adventures!

Your Daughter,

Shanny

Three weeks after the sad news about Cousin Saskia, we were on our way to Amsterdam. Mom and Dad spent most of the prior weeks arguing about Verbruggenhuis (in Dutch, that means "Verbruggen house"). Actually, Mom and Dad fight a lot anyway, but the house issue amplified it. Dad wants to sell the house and put the money away for our college educations. Mom wants to keep the house. The Verbruggens are the only family that has ever lived in it. Mom says selling would be a betrayal to her ancestors. There's a lot of history and memories tied up in that house. Dad doesn't seem to realize that. All he can see is the expense of a second home. Not just any home, but one in another country.

I'm trying to remain neutral. Mom has a point, but so does Dad. Our family may be well-off financially, but we're not made of money. If we decide not to rent the house out, then someone would have to periodically check on it. Plus, we don't know the current condition of the house. Saskia never married or had children and her parents died years ago. She was alone for a long time. The house might need repairs, or even renovations.

That's why we're taking the trip to Amsterdam - to assess the condition of the house. Also, so Mom can say a final goodbye to Saskia. Mom took two weeks off from work (she works three mornings a week at a store downtown). Dad refused to take the time off. He's a very important and successful lawyer. He wouldn't even leave work for a few days. Mom and Dad fought over that, too. How can Dad make an informed decision about the house if he never sees it?

My sisters and I don't have to worry about missing school since it's the middle of summer vacation. And, guess what? We won't be traveling alone. That is, it's not just the Kilbourne family going to Amsterdam. Mom said we could each invite a friend. Of course, I invited my long-time best friend, Greer Carson (the fast stats of Greer: gorgeous, dramatic, outspoken, and extremely fashion conscious). Mrs. Carson decided to make the trip, too. (She and Mom are close friends). Maria brought along Amanda Delaney, who's also eight. The Delaney family lived next door to us for years, but recently moved to Baltimore. Amanda is known for being spoiled and bossy, but she and Maria get along great (most of the time). I think it helps that Maria's so easy-going. She and Amanda balance each other out. Tiffany declined to invite a friend. I'm sorry to say this, but Tiffany's sort of the black sheep of the family. She doesn't do well in school or excel at sports or make friends easily. Mostly, she wants to be left alone in her garden.

So, that sounds like a diverse group, right? But wait, here's where it gets kind of crazy. Last week, Kristy Thomas (president of the Baby-Sitters Club, remember?) was hanging out at my house. We were baking peanut butter cookies when Mom came home from work. She told Kristy all about Amsterdam - the canals, the museums, the shops - and Kristy thought it sounded terrific. So, Mom invited her along! Not only that, Mom said the entire BSC could come!

That's seven girls - Kristy, Claudia Kishi, Stacey McGill, Mary Anne Spier, Abby Stevenson, Mallory Pike, and Jessi Ramsey. Plus, Mary Anne's stepsister, Dawn Schafer, who is visiting from California. _Plus,_ Abby's twin sister, Anna (it didn't seem right to leave her out). All their parents finally said yes. Mary Anne and Jessi's parents held out the longest. Mary Anne's because her dad is creepily overprotective. Jessi's because she's only eleven (and she's black).

There's a rumor going around that Mallory Pike's parents sold one of the triplets to pay for her plane ticket. At first, I laughed it off as absurd, but I swear I only saw two of the triplets when we picked Mallory up for the airport. The Pikes must really want Mallory out of the country.

We had to take three cars to the airport. Since we left on a Saturday, Kristy's parents and Stacey's mom offered to drive us. (Dad went out of town on business. Another thing for my parents to fight about). We had to drive into New York to catch our flight with Dam Airways. I rode in Mrs. Brewer's station wagon with Tiffany, Maria, Greer, and Dawn. That was a mistake.

First, Dawn lectured us on airline safety and protocol. Apparently, she's an expert since she flies back and forth between Connecticut and California so often. In the middle of Dawn's instructions on the best time to use that airplane's restrooms, I noticed Greer's eyes starting to glaze over. _Finally,_ Dawn concluded her speech with a sigh. "My life is so complicated," she said. "Sometimes, it feels like I live on an airplane. Consider yourselves lucky, girls, that your lives aren't as stressful as mine."

Greer rolled her eyes at me. I almost pointed out to Dawn that she wouldn't fly so much if she'd decide once and for all what state to live in. But then, I don't know her too well and thought it best not to upset her. I actually didn't have a chance to say anything anyway. At that moment, Dawn spotted Greer's brown leather backpack and became hysterical.

"Murderer!" shrieked Dawn.

"Huh?" replied Greer.

"That," Dawn pointed at the backpack, "was a living, breathing, beautiful creature."

I decided not to get involved. Very cowardly, I know. Instead, I looked out the window, pretending to be fascinated by the passing cars.

"How does it feel to have dried animal skin strapped to your back?" demanded Dawn.

"Quite smooth and light, actually," Greer said, coolly, refusing to look at Dawn.

"You're disgusting,"

"You're obnoxious,"

"Cow killer!"

"Cow lover!"

"Girls!" Mrs. Brewer shouted. "Don't make me pull over and separate you!"

Greer, Dawn, and I blushed bright pink. How embarrassing! We're supposed to be mature, responsible baby-sitters. Instead, we were acting like rude, rotten children. Or, at least Dawn and Greer were. I did nothing to stop them though. It was as much my fault as theirs. In the front seat, Tiffany and Maria giggled. Greer and Dawn folded their arms and pouted the rest of the way.

Maybe I should have told Dawn the backpack's pleather.


	3. Mallory

_Dear Adam, Jordan, Byron, Vanessa, Nicky, Margo, and Claire: _

Greetings from the sky! We left New York about an hour ago. Currently, we're high above the Atlantic Ocean. Still hours and hours away from Amsterdam! I'll bring everyone a special gift back from Amsterdam.

Your Big Sis,

Mal

"This is so dibble!"

I admit, I'd said that a few times already. I couldn't help myself. It really was _so dibble._ (Dibble is a word my friends and I made up. It means super duper cool). I had been excited ever since my parents gave me permission to go to Amsterdam. My family's on a tight budget with eight kids, but Mom and Dad said they could scrounge up the money if it got me out of Stoneybrook for two weeks.

Not to sound conceited, but I was _looking_ pretty dibble, too. I thought I should dress up since we were on an international flight. Europeans are very cosmopolitan and sophisticated. I didn't want any of them thinking I'm stale. (Stale is _not_ dibble). That's why I wore my best red jumper. It has _Mallory_ embroidered across the front. I also wore a pair of white tights with red hearts on them. I looked _at least _fifteen. Maybe even sixteen. I received several admiring looks from sleek and chic women. Some of them were traveling with male companions. They probably thought I was competition. Little did they know, I already have a sort-of boyfriend back in Connecticut.

However, my outfit paled in comparison to what Stacey McGill and Claudia Kishi were wearing. They could easily have been mistaken for sophisticated Europeans. Stacey had on a floor-length chiffon skirt and a spaghetti strap tank top with strappy heeled sandals - all in black. (Stacey's a native New Yorker. And a diabetic). She also wore ten silver bangles on each wrist, huge silver hoop earrings, and silver combs in her permed blonde hair. Stacey looked so romantic! I imagined her lounging beside a canal with a hunky Dutch boy, reading french poetry.

Claudia looked great, too, but in a completely different way. Claudia's an artist and uses fashion as a creative outlet. For the flight, Claudia put together a traditional Dutch costume. She wore a blue and white striped dress with a pinafore. She made the pinafore herself, out of a tablecloth. She also made this funny little white bonnet out of a dish rag. From her ears dangled red tulip earrings and her silky black hair was pulled into two thick braids. The best part, however, were her shoes. You know how the Dutch are known for those silly wooden clogs? Claudia carved her own out of styrofoam! She spray painted them yellow and glued paper windmills and tulips on them. She looked more Dutch than anyone else on the plane! People kept turning in their seats to stare at her, obviously impressed. Claudia was seated in front of me, but hopefully everyone knew we were together.

I was sitting with Dawn and Mary Anne in the very last row. Mary Anne had the seat next to the window (lucky duck), a seat Dawn had graciously relinquished, saying, "When you've flown as often as I have the scenery all looks the same." If only my siblings were that thoughtful.

We were pretty spread out on the plane. Tiffany, Maria, Amanda Delaney (who had met us at the airport), Jessi, Abby, and Kristy were near the front. Claudia and Stacey were directly in front of me and Dawn. Then, Shannon, Greer, and Anna were across the aisle from me. Mrs. Kilbourne and Mrs. Carson were in first class!

"Hey, Mal," Mary Anne said to me, "did you know that Amsterdam uses the Euro for its currency? Eleven other countries use the Euro - Belgium, Austria, Finland, France, Luxembourg, Ireland, Greece, Portugal, Spain, Germany, and Italy. The same coins can be used in all these countries. Isn't that neat?"

"Wow. That's dibble," I replied.

Across the aisle, I heard Greer whisper to Shannon, "Why does she keep saying that?"

Hm. Shannon must not have told her SDS friends about the words we made up. Shannon obviously respects the BSC's privacy. Shannon's really distant.

Mary Anne was still talking to me. "There are four main canals in Amsterdam - Prinsengracht, Herengracht, Keizergracht, and Singel. Plus, there are smaller canals, including the Leliegracht, where Shannon's house is." Mary Anne's famous for spouting facts during our vacations. As much as I adore Mary Anne, it can be annoying. I appreciated it on this trip because I don't know much about Amsterdam. Except that it's the capital of The Netherlands (and that The Netherlands also include Holland). Back in Stoneybrook, Ben Hobart (my sort-of boyfriend) and I looked up some books about Amsterdam on one of our library dates, but Mary Anne had already checked them all out.

"I wonder what we'll get to eat," I heard Claudia ask Stacey. Claudia's _always_ thinking about food.

"Probably deep fried pig fat," Dawn replied, loudly. "Or, garlic roasted cow carcass."

Several people turned and glared at Dawn. Greer rolled her eyes and snorted. Something was going on between Dawn and Greer. In the airport, they argued at the Dam Airways counter over who got to put her luggage on the conveyer belt first. Then, Dawn hit Greer in the face with a bag of tofu-carob treats. A security guard had to separate them. It was pretty stale.

Dawn and Greer managed to avoid physical altercations while on the plane. Shannon, Greer, and Anna played cards for awhile and Dawn took out a book called _Ending the Slaughter._ I decided to work on a story I'm writing about a caterpillar family on vacation in Amsterdam. Their adventures are based on those of my friends and I. I wrote a couple paragraphs, then started an illustration of the caterpillars walking (or, inching) along a canal. I gave Papa caterpillar a monocle, which made me giggle.

It was then that I felt a pair of eyes staring at me. I glanced up just in time to catch the girl before she turned forward again. She was seven rows ahead of me, on the opposite side of the plane. I had noticed her earlier because she kept looking back at us. I figured she was admiring Claudia's outfit. But, the last time, Claudia was in the bathroom. I just got this creepy feeling that the girl was watching _me_. I tried to ignore it, but the feeling wouldn't go away. I went back to my drawing until the hairs on my arms raised. That's when I saw the girl walking down the aisle - toward me!

The girl appeared harmless enough. She was probably twelve or thirteen, a bit bird-like with long, curly brown hair and round silver-framed glasses. She wore jeans and a maroon sweater monogrammed with the letter "G". She didn't stop at my seat, just looked me in the eyes and mumbled, "_Guten tag_", then stepped into a vacant restroom.

Was she introducing herself? Should I have introduced myself? What kind of name is Guten Tag? I drew a sharp breath and shivered as another thought crossed my mind: could I have...a _stalker_?


	4. Mary Anne

_Dear Logan, _

I'm in Amsterdam! Actually, I'm in the Schiphol airport. Did you know that the Schiphol has been voted the best airport in the world four times? Right now, we're waiting for Mrs. Kilbourne and Mrs. Carson. They're calling for some taxis. I can't believe I'm in Europe! It would be so romantic if you were here with me. I miss you!

Eternal Love,

Mary Anne

The postcard was kind of mushy, but Logan wouldn't mind. I knew he was missing me, too. I cried when we said goodbye in Stoneybrook. Crying is nothing new to me. I cry two or three times a day. I'm very shy and sensitive. Luckily, I have a boyfriend who is sensitive to my sensitivity.

I'm worried about Logan being without me for two weeks. At least I'll have Amsterdam for a distraction. There's so much to see and do. But Logan is stuck in boring old Stoneybrook. I hope I'll be able to have a good time without him. Logan is such a doll. He pretended not to be upset about my leaving. He was even flippant when I asked how he'll occupy himself in my absence. He's so strong! Poor Logan is lost without me, which brought new tears to my eyes. It's a good thing Logan has a busboy job at the Rosebud Cafe. Plus, he's considering a temporary job sowing some wild oats while I'm away. Logan's from Kentucky and enjoys farm work.

The other person I miss already isn't really a person. He's my kitten, Tigger. I worry about him whenever I go on vacation. There's always the possibility Sharon might wear him as an earring or use him to plunge the toilet. (Sharon's a scatterbrain, but I love her anyway). I also worry that Tigger will forget me. He acted really distant after my trips to Camp Mohawk, Vermont, California, New York, Shadow Lake, Hawaii, the Northwest, that other trip to California, and the three trips to Sea City. This time, I had a great idea worthy of Kristy. I borrowed the Pikes' polaroid camera and took three dozen photos of myself. I placed each photo strategically throughout the house and yard, including seven around his food dish. Not only will Tigger not forget about me, he'll think I never left!

My friends agreed the idea was ingenious. Mallory immediately wrote a postcard to her mom, asking Mrs. Pike to put a couple of Mal's school pictures in Frodo's cage. I wiped a tear from my eye. The bond between a pet and its owner is so beautiful.

Know what else is beautiful? Amsterdam. There are flowers and huge canals and all these great old buildings. Of course, I hadn't seen any of these things yet. We were still sitting around Schiphol airport, surrounded by our luggage and a group of Japanese tourists who kept taking our picture. Mrs. Kilbourne and Mrs. Carson had to call for some taxis to drive us to Verbruggenhuis. Mrs. Kilbourne said we wouldn't take another taxi until we returned to the airport. Taxis are incredibly expensive in Amsterdam. Most people take the trams and trains. Or, they walk or ride a bike. There are hardly any cars in Amsterdam because of all the canals that run through the city. The canals don't leave much room for a lot of traffic. I knew all these things because I had read eight guidebooks, five brochures, and a magazine article. I was ready.

Stacey sighed. "I don't understand why Mrs. Kilbourne wouldn't let me just hail the cabs. I'm from New York. I'm an expert."

"You can't hail a cab in Amsterdam," I explained. "Cabs don't drive around like in New York. It cuts down on pollution."

Dawn nodded. "The Dutch are much more environmentally conscious than Americans. We can learn a lot from them while we're here."

Someone snorted, but our group was so big I couldn't tell who it was. Or, if it even came from our group. Since I'm such a sensitive and caring person, I could sense some tension within the group. I just wished I could figure out who was having the problem. I'm very perceptive, rational, and a good listener.

Mrs. Kilbourne and Mrs. Carson arrived then and lead us out of the airport. It's too bad we didn't have time to look around. I know from my guidebooks that Schiphol has tons of great shops, restaurants, and entertainment. Mrs. Kilbourne said it was too late for shopping, plus the airport shops are really expensive. Three taxis were waiting for us outside.

"It's unseasonably warm tonight," said Claudia.

Mrs. Kilbourne gave her a funny look. I think I did, too. It _was_ a nice night, but it didn't feel any different than a typical summer night in Stoneybrook. Claudia climbed into a taxi before I could ask what she meant. I got into another taxi, squashed into the backseat with Dawn, Abby, and Jessi. Kristy sat up front with the driver. Mrs. Kilbourne spoke to him momentarily (in Dutch!), then she got into Claudia's taxi. Our driver pulled out onto the street. I had a million questions for him, but he never answered.

It was awfully dark, but many of the streets were well-lit with lampposts and lights hanging in the windows. Most of the houses along the canals were decorated with strings of lights. It was breathtaking.

"Did you know that Amsterdam was founded during the late twelfth century?" I asked. Everyone enjoys my facts. I think they appreciate all the time and effort I put into my research. "The city was originally called Amstelledamme. The city was built around a dam in the Amstel river. Thus, its name!" No one said anything, so I continued. "Very few of the medieval buildings remain today. However, in the Begijnhof there's a wooden house that dates back to 1475!"

"Wow," breathed Jessi. "It's even older than your house, Dawn."

"I bet it doesn't have a secret passage," Dawn replied.

The drive to Verbruggenhuis only took about ten minutes. The short drive was still expensive. It cost thirty Euros! That's about thirty-eight American dollars! Mrs. Kilbourne had to pay that for _three_ taxis. Good thing the Kilbournes are so rich.

Mrs. Kilbourne cried as she unlocked the door to Verbruggenhuis. I can't stand for anyone to cry alone. That's the price of being a sensitive soul like myself. As the tears gushed from my eyes, I felt an arm slip around my waist.

"There, there, Mary Anne," Claudia whispered, pulling me into a hug. "It'll be okay."

Stacey, Jessi, and Mal clustered around and patted my back. After twenty minutes, I regained my composure with a final sniff and joined the others inside. Verbruggenhuis is two stories with an attic. The rooms are small and the halls narrow. It reminded me of my own house, which almost made me cry again.

All the rooms had been claimed, so Claudia, Jessi, Mal, and I were assigned the attic. Mrs. Kilbourne and Mrs. Carson were sharing the master bedroom. Maria and Amanda Delaney were downstairs in the den (Amanda objected to sleeping on the futon because her nightgown cost fifty-five dollars. No one would trade with her though). Stacey joined Tiffany, Dawn, and Kristy in an upstairs bedroom. The third bedroom was occupied by Shannon, Greer, Abby, and Anna.

Then, the shuffling started.

Mallory and Jessi thought the attic was creepy and possibly haunted, so they switched rooms with Stacey and Kristy. Dawn became upset that she was "stuck with a bunch of sixth graders" and switched with Anna. After five minutes, Dawn and Greer got into an argument over Greer's silk pajamas. According to Dawn, silk worms are enslaved in China and forced to live in cramped boxes with no regard for their wants, hopes, and dreams. Dawn attempted to rip off Greer's pajama shirt and even though Dawn's my stepsister, I can't say I blame Greer for spraying her in the face with that perfume.

Once she had thoroughly flushed her eyes and rinsed her mouth, Dawn decided that if the attic was haunted, then she should sleep there. Dawn believes our house in Stoneybrook is haunted, plus she's read every book of ghost stories ever written. When it comes to detecting ghosts, she's very qualified. She's practically a parapsychologist.

Dawn and Stacey switched rooms. Claudia, Dawn, and Kristy spent quite awhile creeping around the attic, tapping on the walls, and searching for spectral evidence. Kristy kept making spooky noises. All the talk about ghosts convinced me there really _was_ a ghost. I switched rooms with Abby.

At that point, Mrs. Kilbourne came out of her bedroom and ordered us to stop changing rooms, fighting, and making horse noises (which was apparently going on in Mal and Jessi's room). Greer, Shannon, Stacey, and I said our good nights, turned out the light, snuggled into our beds (I was extra comfy since I had on one of Logan's shirts. It's stained and faded and smells of Clearasil and corn dogs. Just like him), and dreamed of our first full day in Amsterdam.


	5. Dawn

_Hey Sunny! _

Greetings from Amsterdam! I'm telling you, Sunny, this is our kind of city. It's almost as good as Cali. I've already met some totally rad people. The Dutch are so tuned into animal rights, environmental causes, and all my other passions. If only you could be here! It'd totally take your mind off your mom's cancer.

Love and Sunshine,

Dawn

I knew Sunny would appreciate hearing from me. My best California friend, Sunny Winslow, has never been to Amsterdam, but her parents have. Over the years, they've told me plenty of stories (and left plenty others out. Not "age appropriate" they claim). According to the Winslows, Amsterdam was hippie haven back in the 60's. Apparently, the city never recovered. It's known for being tolerant - racially, religiously, sexually, everything.

That's why Amsterdam is the perfect place for me. I'm a very tolerant person. I'm also an independent thinker. I believe in doing my own thing instead of following the crowd. I don't let anyone tell me what to think, feel, or do. Plus, I speak out whenever I see an injustice and encourage others to do the same. I consider myself a champion of people, animals, and the environment.

It's too bad more people aren't like me. I hope that the tolerance and goodwill of Amsterdam will rub off on my friends. They could benefit from some enlightenment. Especially Greer. I've not known her long, but already her ignorance and intolerance is obvious. Maybe she'll learn some tolerance in Amsterdam, but I doubt it.

On Sunday, our first real day in Amsterdam, I awoke around eight. I felt a little jet lagged, but I'm used to it since I fly so often. Sometimes I resent having to fly cross country all the time. My life is really complicated. Most people couldn't handle it as well as I do.

Claudia and Kristy were still asleep. Claudia was snoring and snorting like a pig. She should be more courteous to others. No one wants to hear that.

I dressed quickly in a pair of tan shorts and a sky blue t-shirt with _California_ written in white letters. I wanted to advertise my home state. I ran a brush through my long pale, pale hair and put on some earrings. In the first holes, I wore dangling palm trees. In the second holes, I wore hot pink sunglasses. Definitely California Casual.

In the kitchen, I found Mrs. Kilbourne, Stacey, Shannon, and Abby eating breakfast. Mrs. Kilbourne and Stacey had gone out earlier and bought some things to eat. I had a glass of orange juice and an apple, even though Mrs. Kilbourne couldn't guarantee it was organic. It was probably covered in pesticides.

Everyone was dressed and ready by ten. I thought it rather lazy and inconsiderate for some people to sleep so late. Greer had to be dragged out of bed at 9:45, which didn't surprise me at all. Mrs. Kilbourne assured us that the late start didn't matter, as Amsterdam is a late city. Most stores and restaurants don't even open until ten.

Mrs. Kilbourne took us to the post office to exchange our U.S. dollars for Euros. She tried to explain the exchange rates, but not well enough for anyone to understand. I decided I'd just have to remember that one U.S. dollar equals about .77 Euros. I'm used to relying on myself anyway. Next, we went to buy weekly tram passes. The trams run all over the city and would be our primary mode of transportation. Mrs. Kilbourne gave us each a tram schedule and city map, making us promise to carry them at all times.

Apparently thinking we were a bunch of children, Mrs. Kilbourne proceeded to deliver a speech on Amsterdam. "Now, girls, Amsterdam is a very safe city with an extremely low crime rate. You can go to any part of the city without worrying that it's dangerous. However, you must still remain alert. Be careful of pickpockets and unethical shopkeepers. They _will_ cheat you. The primary language in Amsterdam is, of course, Dutch, although there are those who speak French or German. Almost everyone speaks English, so there shouldn't be any trouble with language barriers. I'm trusting that I can trust you girls. Don't disappoint me." Mrs. Kilbourne probably forgot that I'm from Los Angeles. I know how to handle myself on the streets.

We split up then. Mrs. Kilbourne and Shannon had an appointment with their cousin's attorney. Mrs. Carson and Greer took Maria and Amanda to the supermarket. (Thank goodness for Stacey's diabetes, otherwise I bet they wouldn't buy anything healthy). Mary Anne, Anna, Mallory, Jessi, and Tiffany left to sightsee with Mallory mumbling something about safety in numbers. Kristy and Abby wanted to do some paddleboat thing on a canal. Stacey and Claudia ran off to catch a tram without saying where they were going. (Oddly enough, Claudia appeared to be wearing Abby's clothes).

I didn't mind being left alone. I had my own plans anyway. I checked the tram schedule and the map, then jumped the next tram headed for the Dam Square. After about twenty minutes and several stops, I signaled the conductor that I needed out at the next stop by pushing the nearest red button. I must say, I was quite impressed with how smoothly I adjusted to Amsterdam transportation.

I exited the tram, consulted my map again, and headed down the street. The previous night I decided to devote the day to some research and detective work. There had to be a ghost in that attic. Where there's a ghost, there's a mystery. I've solved lots of mysteries in California and Stoneybrook. Sometimes my friends help me. I figured the library would have tons of information on Verbruggenhuis. Maybe someone was murdered there. Or, the Verbruggens might have hid a Jewish family during World War Two. It was up to me to ensure their souls finally found peace. I told you, the burdens in my life are abundant and great.

I checked the map once more. I should have reached the library by then, but it was nowhere in sight. I passed a small tree-lined square. Some tourists were sitting in the shade while street performers wandered around. There were jugglers and mimes and musicians. I probably would have stopped to watch if I was a kid. Since I'm not, I continued down the street, still in search of the library. I decided to take stock of my surroundings. I glanced around. The area was sort of ghetto-ish and run down. Far passed the street performers, the street was crowded with fast food restaurants (yuck!) and a few crumbling shops.

"Excuse me?" I asked a flower vendor. "I seem to be lost. What part of the city is this?"

"Leidseplein," he replied. The vendor was missing several teeth. No doubt from years of consuming sugar and artificial flavoring. If I hadn't been so upset, I'd have given him a stern lecture on oral hygiene.

"Leidseplein! I'm trying to get to Dam Square," I looked at the map once more. I couldn't imagine I made a mistake. Mrs. Kilbourne should have bought better maps.

"You're a good ways from Dam Square. Catch the tram down there," The vendor pointed to the end of the street. "Would you like to buy a flower?" He held a yellow tulip out to me.

"Are you kidding? Do you have any idea the chemicals that thing's been sprayed with?" I folded my map and stalked off. The ignorance of some people! I bet he eats meat and preservatives, too.

As I came to the end of the street, I noticed a line of picketers outside a McDonalds. They were carrying signs and chanting in Dutch. Any protest against a cruel, carnivorous machine like McDonalds is a protest I can get behind. I walked up to one of the protesters and tapped her on the shoulder.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"We're protesting the cultural degradation of the Leidseplein. This was once a community of peace, love, and spirituality. Sisters and brothers united as one. Until fast food chains moved in like a blight and sucked out the soul of the city, like a sucubus sucks the life from her unwitting prey," The girl raised her fist and shouted something in Dutch. Cheers erupted around her. She was obviously the leader and a powerful one at that. The girl was ordinary, even plain, in appearance - average height and weight with short chestnut hair. But, she seemed to glow, as if emitting the radiance of her beliefs.

"Give me a sign!" I cried.

The girl grinned and stuck out her hand. "I'm Suzanne van Dort,"

"Dawn Schafer from California. I, too, detest the cruel, carnivorous machine that serves itself hot, wrapped in unrecycled paper and claims to be a complete, well-balanced meal,"

Suzanne's grin widened. "Welcome aboard, Dawn Schafer,"

I raised my sign high in the air, shouting loud and proud. I picked up the Dutch slogans quickly, even though I didn't understand them. My friends might be content to waste their vacation on canal tours and window shopping, but I was going to work for a cause. I was going to restore culture and beauty to the Leidseplein!


	6. Stacey

_Dear Mom, _

Amsterdam is really great, but not as great as New York. It's easier to get around though and the people are friendlier. Claudia and I spent the first day shopping. I know what you're thinking. It was a necessity. Honest. You won't believe what Claudia did. It's a long story, so I'll tell you when I get home.

XOXO Stacey

I hate lying to my mom. Technically, I didn't lie in the postcard. Amsterdam _was_ great, the people _were_ friendlier, and Claudia _did_ do something stupid (and funny). But, I'm a big girl and pretty smart and sophisticated. I'm old enough and mature enough to realize that a lie by omission is the same as an outright lie. I made a huge mistake on my first day in Amsterdam. A mistake no New Yorker should ever make. I just couldn't admit it to my mom.

Let me back up. It all started on Sunday morning when I went to wake up Claudia. Everyone else was already dressed and eating breakfast, except Claudia and Greer. When I reached the attic, Claudia was sitting in bed, holding a mirror in one hand and a tube of mascara in the other. She'd done this cool Egyptian look with fuchsia eyeliner and gold glitter eyeshadow. It was really fresh. Claudia looked up at me and her eyes widened in alarm.

"Stacey!" she shrieked. "You're going to freeze outside!"

I glanced down at my outfit. I had on black and white checkered shorts with a red patent leather belt and a white sleeveless shirt. I was wearing the same sandals as the day before. For jewelry, I wore a red plastic bracelet and red hoop earrings. My hair was pushed back with a black and white checkered headband. The outfit seemed perfectly weather appropriate to me. Not to mention trendy and stylish.

"What are you talking about, Claud? It's a beautiful day. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, the flowers are blooming,"

"How can that be?" Claudia demanded. "Janine told me the summers are between twenty and twenty-five degrees in Amsterdam! We're on the other side of the world! Seasons are opposite!"

I stared at her in shock. "The summers _are_ between twenty and twenty-five degrees," I replied. "Twenty and twenty-five degrees _Celsius_."

"Huh?"

"In America, we measure degrees in Fahrenheit. In Europe, degrees are measured in Celsius. Twenty degrees Celsius is, like, seventy degrees Fahrenheit,"

Claudia went pale, then turned bright red. We stared at each other in silence. Claudia looked ready to cry.

"Claudia..." I began, slowly, "what did you pack?"

Claudia stood up and walked over to her two bulging suitcases. She unzipped one. It was crammed full with heavy wool pants, puff painted ski parkas, and sweaters covered in ribbons and rhinestones. There was even a pair of neon green galoshes and a silver reflective umbrella.

"Oh, Claudia..."

We hatched a plan right away. As soon as possible, we would take the tram to the Waterlooplein, a section of Amsterdam that hosts a huge flea market. It's known for its marvelous collection of cheap second hand clothes. Claudia would be able to buy an entire new wardrobe. Afterward, we'd track down a craft store, so Claud could buy all the extras needed to create her signature style. We promised not to tell anyone about the misunderstanding.

We ended up telling Abby. We didn't have a choice. Claudia couldn't fit into any of my shorts. Don't get me wrong, Claudia's really thin, but I happen to be a bit _too_ thin. So, Claudia had to borrow clothes from Abby. Abby swore up and down to never reveal Claudia's secret. She even offered to spit on it. We declined.

Claudia left the house in Abby's olive green shorts and a dark gray tank top that read _Soccer Is For Girls._ Claudia tried to jazz it up with a pair of red plaid high tops and peacock feather earrings. I wish I could say it looked fabulous. But it didn't.

After exchanging our money and buying tram passes, Claudia and I took off for the nearest tram. We didn't tell anyone our plans. We didn't want anyone else tagging along. Frankly, we didn't want _Dawn_ tagging along. She had been nothing but a headache since we left Stoneybrook. Maybe living full time in California wasn't the answer to her problems. Perhaps, medication was. No way was I spending the day listening to a neverending lecture on global warming or the benefits of feral cat feces or whatever.

The flea market was even larger than I imagined. Stalls were lined practically all over the Waterlooplein! It was a shopping paradise. And, a bargain hunter's paradise. Just rack after rack of clothes. Claudia and I shopped for three hours straight. I bought an adorable skirt. It's long and silky in four shades of green. I also bought a cream-colored blouse that's so light and thin that I probably won't even feel it against my skin. Claudia managed to put together a fantastic wardrobe on less than 20 Euros (about twenty-five U.S. dollars). Claudia bought eight pairs of floral leggings for only 3 Euros! That's just four dollars! We just had to buy some glitter, lace, ribbons, and puff paint. Then, ta da! The chilliest vacation wardrobe in all The Netherlands!

Claudia and I decided to search for a craft store after lunch. We walked through the Waterlooplein, scoping out possible eateries.

"Wait, Claud," I said, as we passed a small store. It was in a tall, old building that looked almost ready to collapse. The store name was in English - The Gentleman's Delight. Several suits and ties were displayed in the window. "Let's pop in real quick. I want to buy a present for my dad."

The inside of the store wasn't well-lit. There wasn't a lot of merchandise either. Just a few racks of ties and argyle socks. I didn't see any suits, except the ones in the windows. Claudia and I took our time browsing through the ties. I think we both felt bad for the store and its meager inventory.

The store didn't appear in desperate need of customers. While Claudia and I browsed, three or four men came into the store and went straight to a curtain behind the register. Two other men came out from behind it and exited the store.

"What's behind the curtain?" I asked the girl at the register.

"Special imported items," she replied in a thick German accent. "For preferred customers only."

"But, I need a super terrific gift for my dad!" I protested.

"Send Dad here himself," she sniffed.

"I can't. I'm on vacation with friends," I snapped.

The curtain parted then and the most beautiful boy stepped out. He was seventeen or eighteen, tanned and muscular with shiny blonde hair. It probably gleamed golden in the sun.

"My name is Stas," he said in a light accent that I couldn't place. "Is there a problem?"

No sound escaped my lips. I was melting into a puddle of luv.

"Little girl needs super terrific gift for Daddy," the German girl told Stas. "She wants to see special imported items."

The girl smirked. I held my composure, instead of turning beat red. Or, throttling her.

Stas smiled the most genuine smile in the world. "I'm sorry, but those items are reserved for our preferred customers. May I help you find something else?"

"No," I managed to squeak. What an impression I was making. I cleared my throat and located my voice (and my brain). "I'm Stacey McGill, formerly of New York City and current resident of Connecticut." Wow. I sounded very grown up.

Stas chuckled and extended his hand. "Stas Petrauskas, formerly of Lithuania and currently enamored with a lovely American."

I did turn beat red then. He was so smooth and debonair, not like the junior high boys I usually date. I loved how he spoke his mind. Obviously, he was very mature and sophisticated. We were a perfect match.

"Would you join me for lunch?" Stas asked.

I glanced at Claudia, attempting to send her a message with my eyes. Sometimes I think Claudia and I share a psychic link. It's like she can read my mind.

"Well, I have to meet...Kristy...so I better go now," Claudia smiled at me, encouragingly. We promised to meet at the house later. I hoped she could navigate the tram system on her own, but didn't dwell on the thought. Stas escorted me to a cafe (he actually offered his arm!) We found a secluded table on the patio. It was incredibly romantic.

Stas continued to charm. I felt myself falling deeper in love with each bite of my chicken sandwich. Stas and I told each other our entire life stories. Here's some things I learned about him: he's seventeen years old and originally from Lithuania. (I have no clue where that is, but was too consumed with his expressive hazel eyes to ask). He moved to Amsterdam nine years ago after his parents died in a plane crash. He lives with his uncle, who's a doctor. Stas does temporary work at The Gentleman's Delight and other stores to save money for university. He wants to study medicine and work with children.

I knew immediately that Stas was the perfect boy. The boy I had searched for my whole life. I could tell he felt the same by the gentle way he stroked my hand and wiped a glob of mustard from my lip. Even though long-distance relationships are hard, I knew we had no choice but to try.

Stas and I talked for two hours, until I remembered I had to meet Claudia. Stas gave me his calling card and made a date for Wednesday afternoon. He walked me to the tram stop, where I ignored my first date policy about open mouth kissing and light petting. Three trams later, I finally boarded one. Stas and I waved goodbye. I blew him a kiss. As the tram neared the Leliegracht, I dug through my purse for a tube of lip gloss. The lip gloss was there. My wallet was not.


	7. Abby

_Dear Mom: _

Amsterdam is dam great! Get it? Ha ha! That's the truth though. I'm having an awesome time. Today, Kristy and I rented a pedal boat and cruised the canals of Amsterdam. The view was fab. So was the exercise! Anna's having fun, too. Don't worry about her. She seems to have hit it off pretty well with Tiffany Kilbourne. They went sightseeing today with a bunch of the BSC. She's probably already written you a postcard about it!

Love you,

Abby

I know my mom worries about Anna and me. She worries about me because of my asthma and allergies. She worries about Anna because Anna's consumed by her music. But, Anna and I worry about Mom, too. For a lot of reasons. One is that she works way too much. I wondered as I wrote the postcard if Mom would even get it. I worried she might not bother going home at all without Anna and me there. Maybe she'd just sleep in her office.

I don't like to worry. I prefer to joke and have a good time. That's exactly what Kristy and I had on our first day in Amsterdam. On the airplane, we read about these pedal boats you can rent at different moorings (docks where the boats are tethered) on the canals. There are four moorings in Amsterdam. The pedal boats can be returned to any of them. Kristy and I planned to rent one from the mooring at the Keizersgracht canal, but hadn't decided on our end destination.

There are also enclosed Canal Buses that transport tourists around Amsterdam. The Canal Buses stop at fourteen moorings and the tickets are valid for twenty-four hours. Most tourists prefer the Canal Bus since they don't have to exert any energy. The pedal boats looked like a lot of work, but Kristy and I are pretty athletic. We thrive on physical activity.

After splitting up with the other BSC members, Kristy and I went for a quick snack. We went into a coffeeshop called Homegrown Fantasy, but this crazy-eyed Rastafarian chased us out. (I was proud of myself for recognizing him as a Rastafarian. Anna digs Bob Marley). The guy said no one under eighteen is allowed in the coffeeshop. Kristy and I decided we didn't want to eat there anyway. The place smelled like really weird cigarette smoke. Smoking's gross and bad for my asthma.

We walked down the street to a little cafe. Kristy and I ordered apple juice and cheese danish. Kristy said the cheese danish looked like dried vomit filled with toe jam. It tasted good though. Outside the cafe, Kristy and I hopped a tram to the city centre, where the Keizersgracht mooring is. The mooring was pretty crowded, but everyone seemed to be waiting for the next Canal Bus. Kristy and I pushed our way to the pedal boat rentals.

"My friend and I would like to rent one, please," I told the man standing on the platform.

He smirked at me. "I don't think you girls are strong enough to maneuver the canals."

"We're athletes," Kristy assured him. "We can manage just fine." Kristy's not used to taking "no" for an answer.

"Move along, girls," the man said with a dismissive wave.

Kristy and I exchanged an angry Look. We both saw red.

"Now, look here -"

"Why don't the girls ride with us?" came a voice from behind.

Kristy and I turned around in surprise. We faced two college-aged boys. Neither was much taller than me. One had curly black hair and the other had straw-colored hair pulled into a small ponytail. I figured they must be Americans since the curly hair guy had on a Florida State t-shirt.

"It'll be easier with four of us pedaling," said the curly hair guy. He stuck out his hand. "I'm Justin Garland and this here's my buddy, Tyson Hillie."

Kristy and I introduced ourselves and agreed to share their pedal boat. We split the rental fee four ways. Justin and Tyson let Kristy and me sit in the front. The (rude) rental guy gave us a light push, then we pedaled frantically. Quickly, we found it _was_ a lot of work. The rental guy was right - there's no way Kristy and I could have done it on our own. Unless, of course, we wanted to get stuck floating aimlessly in the middle of the Keizersgracht or something. Although, it'd probably be exciting to get rescued by the canal cops (or the dam police - ha!)

Justin and Tyson turned out to be really cool. They were sophomores at Florida State and on vacation with a bunch of their fraternity brothers. The others guys were spending all their time in the red-light district, but Justin and Tyson wanted to experience a little culture. I told you, a couple of cool guys.

Kristy thought so, too. But, we didn't _like_ like them. First of all, they were way too old for us (and there are laws against that sort of thing). Second of all, Kristy and I aren't all boy-crazy like _some_ people. We're firm believers in being friends with boys, a concept that should be introduced to Stacey. (No way was I telling her about Justin and Tyson).

"So, your chaperone just lets you wander around Amsterdam?" Justin asked when we stopped near a bridge for a few pictures.

"Sure," I replied. "Amsterdam's a very safe city."

"Even the safest cities have their weirdos," said Tyson.

"Yeah, I have a fourteen year old sister. I wouldn't want her alone on the streets of a strange city," Justin added.

"Jumping into boats with even stranger boys?" I joked.

Justin and Tyson laughed.

"We're _very_ responsible," Kristy promised. She told them about the Baby-Sitters Club.

"Wow, that's impressive," said Justin. "Penny loves to babysit. I'll pass the idea on to her." But he still didn't look convinced of our safety.

"We already have a California branch and used to have a New York branch," Kristy told them, a bit smug. "A Florida branch would be good for business."

I fake sneezed a couple times (allergies are handy) to cover up a snicker. Kristy takes the BSC far too seriously. Does she anticipate many of our clients going to Florida anytime soon? I snickered, but recovered with another fake sneeze.

"Abby has terrible allergies," Kristy explained.

We pedaled through the canals for a little over two hours. The time really went fast since the four of us were having such an awesome time. Justin and Tyson loved my impressions, especially the one I did of Arnold Schwarzeneggar. (A passing pedal boat of German tourists did not agree. I don't know what _Weibstueck_ means, but the tone in which it was yelled was not pleasant). Unfortunately, my various skits and anecdotes could not be successfully acted out within the confines of the pedal boat.

We decided to dock at the mooring along the Leidseplein. It was almost two 'o' clock and Kristy and I were starving. Plus, Justin and Tyson had to meet their friends.

"It's a good thing we saved you," Tyson said, as we climbed out of the pedal boat.

"Saved us? You did not!" Kristy argued.

Tyson grinned. "No way could you and Abby have pedaled that thing. Not without us,"

Kristy narrowed her eyes. "Is that a challenge?" she demanded.

"Yeah! I guess it is,"

"Yeah! We challenge you and Abby to a pedal boat race," Justin interjected."Except, we bet you could fill your boat with friends and we'd still beat you," Tyson added.

Kristy and I exchanged a thoughtful Look. A pedal boat seats five. I knew we couldn't win two on two (though Kristy probably thought differently). Five on two was a completely different story.

"It's a deal!" we cried in unison.

"We'll meet on Friday at three 'o' clock," Tyson said.

"Losers buy winners a traditional Dutch lunch at The Pancake Bakery," Kristy added.

"Good. I love The Pancake Bakery. Almost as much as I love a free meal," Justin replied.

I shook hands with Tyson and Kristy shook hands with Justin. It was very official. Then, we parted ways. Kristy and I strategized while exploring the Leidseplein. We agreed that neither Mary Anne or Anna would be advantageous in any kind of race.

"Definitely not Stacey or Claudia either," Kristy said. "They'd just worry about their hair and flirt with Justin and Tyson."

I didn't add that everyone on shore would also stare, point, and snap pictures while we passed since Claudia would surely wear something bizarre. Probably one of those Venetian gondolier outfits with a hot pink sash and a papier mache hat. However, I've never discussed my opinion of Claudia's ridiculous outfits with Kristy. She and Claudia have been friends all their lives. I usually speak my mind, but in this instance, I didn't want to offend.

"Shannon and Greer might be interested," I told Kristy.

"Yeah, I know Shannon'll do it. Dawn's pretty athletic, too,"

"But Dawn and Greer can't be in the boat together,"

"At this point, I don't think _I_ want to be in the boat with Dawn," Kristy replied.

We decided to ask Shannon and Greer to join us. We couldn't choose between asking Mallory or Jessi though. Jessi has those strong dancer legs, but Mallory's a sturdier girl. We'd work it out later.

Kristy and I stopped at a square full of street performers. I took a couple snapshots of a woman juggling knives. Then, I took a picture of Kristy shaking hands with a clown. Kristy snapped one of me and a mime pretending to be trapped in a box. By the time Kristy and I left the square, we were doubled over with laughter.

"Hey, isn't that Dawn?" I pointed to a group protesters at the end of the street.

Kristy groaned. "This is how she chooses to spend her vacation?" Kristy shook her head, then her expression turned to one of concern. "What if Dawn gets arrested? If our clients found out an honorary member of the Baby-Sitters Club had been arrested, well, we might lose business. No one in the club has ever been in jail - a fact that as president I'm very proud of. Sure, Stacey's been interrogated for counterfeiting and accused of thievery, but she was never formally charged. This could be catastrophic!"

I had to do another fake sneeze. I told you, Kristy takes the BSC seriously. Kristy and I ducked into a Burger King without Dawn spotting us. We ordered a couple flame-broiled cow carcasses that tasted much better than the tofu and sprout taco Dawn probably had for lunch.

"Want to go to that wax museum? Madame Tussaud's?" I asked Kristy after we'd thrown away our trash.

"Sure! Sounds fun. Let's go back to Verbruggenhuis to see if anyone else wants to come,"

"We already know Dawn won't be coming,"

Kristy nodded solemnly. "Wax might not be biodegradable,"

We laughed hysterically as we ran after a passing tram.

Amsterdam! Amsterdam! It's a dam fine town!


	8. Kristy

_Charlie, Sam, David Michael, and Emily Michelle: _

What's new in ol' Stoneybrook? David Michael, is Charlie a competent substitute coach? I expect written, oral, and visual reports from all the Krushers when I get back. Spread the word, so everyone can get busy. Charlie, are you making sure David Michael practices his swing? You might want to hit him a few grounders, too. Thirty or forty twice a day should be adequate. Oh yeah - Amsterdam's okay, but I liked London and Paris better.

See ya!

Kristy

My brothers are a little jealous of all the trips I've taken with my friends. I decided to do them a favor by not bragging too much. I know they won't appreciate the gesture, but it still makes me feel good.

Actually, my little brother, David Michael (he's seven) can be pretty funny. When Mom told him that Shannon invited me to Amsterdam, he said, "how can Shannon invite someone to Amsterdam? She's just a puppy." See, there's Shannon the human _and_ Shannon the Bernese puppy. (The puppy's named after the human, not the other way around).

I was having a pretty chilly time in Amsterdam. _Mostly_. Unfortunately, a dark cloud found me on the afternoon of our first day. The dark cloud had been raining on my head ever since.

Before the cloud, Abby and I met a couple distant guys, who showed us a good time. If they'd been closer to our age (instead of nineteen) the four of us would have been hanging out a lot. That probably would make the Bartman (Bart Taylor, my not-quite boyfriend) jealous. I liked the idea of Bart jealous.

Abby and I were planning to go to Madame Tussaud's Wax Museum, which I heard is awesome. I hoped there was a wax figure of Lassie. David Michael would be ecstatic if I had my picture taken with her. David Michael might even think I met the real Lassie!

When we got back to Verbruggenhuis, Abby and I thought it empty. We searched downstairs, Abby calling out, "Honey, I'm hoooome!" On the second floor, we found Greer reading a book in bed.

"Hey, are you alone?" I asked.

Greer sat up and closed her book. "My mom's taking a nap. Shannon just left ten minutes ago with Maria and Amanda. Mrs. Kilbourne went out, too. I haven't seen anyone else,"

"I can't believe you're spending our first day in Amsterdam in bed!" Abby exclaimed, throwing herself across Greer's legs.

Greer laughed. "I'm so jet lagged and lazy! I figured we'd be out late tonight. I need to rest _sometime_!"

"Good thing, too," I told her. "We're going to the wax museum. Get your shoes on."

Greer scurried around the room. She decided her sundress was wrinkled (it looked okay to me) and wanted to change. Abby went to the attic to put on a clean t-shirt. I sniffed under my arms. My Teen Spirit seemed to be working. I went downstairs to wait and get a glass of water. The telephone was ringing when I entered the kitchen.

"Hello, Vebruggenhuis," I answered in my most business-like voice.

"Am I speaking to Kristin Amanda Thomas?" asked the man on the other end.

"Yes," I replied, hesitantly. I wouldn't put it past Sam to prank me in Amsterdam.

"This is Pieter Hess, director of customer relations at Schiphol airport. I'm calling because you forgot to pick up your crate,"

My crate?

"I didn't have a crate," I replied, fairly convinced Sam couldn't pronounce "Schiphol" correctly.

"It was shipped by a ...let me check the list...Elizabeth Thomas Brewer of Stoneybrook, Connecticut. It shipped via Dam Airways on the flight after yours. When can you pick it up?"

"Um...now, I guess,"

I thanked Mr. Hess, still perplexed. Why would Mom send me something? I went upstairs to tell Abby and Greer about the strange call. Abby was suspicious, but Greer was thrilled at the prospect of an adventure.

"Maybe a drug cartel is trying to turn you into a smuggler! Or, your name accidentally got put on a crate headed for the Artis Zoo. You're about a claim a baby giraffe!"

"Or, it's just Sam playing a trick," I replied, rolling my eyes.

Greer stuck out her bottom lip and pouted. "You're no fun, Kristy. Think adventure. Think excitement. Think international scandal!"

"Let's think about catching the tram instead," said Abby.

The tram ride to the airport took over half an hour. I admit, as we neared Schiphol, my palms started to sweat. I was sure my mom hadn't sent anything to me. So, who had? Maybe someone mailed me a bomb! The BSC does have a few enemies - Cokie Mason, Shawna Riverson, Clarence King, plus there's all the crooks we've nabbed. Then, I thought about these high school girls, Liz and Michelle. Last year, they tried to put the BSC out of business by starting their own club. What if they were attempting to do it again? Only this time, they wanted us out of the way _permanently_.

Obviously, I had a lot weighing on my mind when we entered the Customer Relations office.

As soon as we entered, a tall man rushed up to us. "Kristin Amanda Thomas?" he asked.

"I'm Kristy," I managed to squeak.

"Dear girl," he gripped my shoulder gently. "We spoke on the telephone. My name is Pieter Hess. I am very sorry for your loss,"

"Thanks," I replied, bewildered.

"It's good you brought some friends for moral support. We've put him in a private room. Right this way, please,"

Abby, Greer, and I exchanged confused looks. But, as fearful as I was for my life and the future of the Baby-Sitters Club, I wanted to get to the bottom of this mystery.

Mr. Hess led us down a short hallway and stopped at the last door on the right. He gave me a sympathetic look before opening the door. "We didn't disturb him. I'll leave you alone for a few minutes," Mr. Hess told me, as Abby, Greer, and I stepped into the room. He shut the door behind him.

The room was small with a table and five chairs pushed against the back wall. In the center of the room sat a giant dog carrier.

"Your mom sent you a dead dog?" asked Greer.

"I know my mom didn't send this," I replied.

The three of us walked around the carrier, examining it from every possible angle. Someone had written BREWER on the sides in black marker. Behind the carrier door there were several heavy blankets covering a lifeless lump. I turned the plastic dial and the carrier door popped open.

"Careful, Kristy," Greer warned in a hushed tone.

I reached forward to grab hold of the blanket. I gripped it tightly, frozen. That's when we heard a low growl beneath the blankets.

"It's alive!" shrieked Greer.

"Oy! Sweet Bubbie!" Abby cried.

I tore off the blanket.

"Alan Gray!"

Alan Gray, the pest of Stoneybrook Middle School and the bane of my existence, tumbled out of the carrier with yellow M&Ms in his eyes.

"Daddy Warbucks, is that you?" he yelled.

"Augh!" I screamed.

Alan burst into hysterical laughter and started jumping around the room like a monkey.

"You shipped yourself to Amsterdam?" I demanded.

"In a _dog_ carrier?" added Abby.

"Who is this joker?" asked Greer.

Alan stopped pretending to pick lice out of Abby's hair. He bowed gallantly and kissed Greer's hand. "Alan Gray, milady. _Enchante_,"

Greer rolled her eyes. "Oh, please,"

"I do believe you are the most lovely creature in all of Amsterdam,"

"Alan, you haven't even _been_ to Amsterdam," I snapped. "You've been in the airport, hiding in a dog carrier."

"Allow me to rephrase," Alan replied, turning to Greer with another bow. "You are the most lovely creature in this room."

Greer rolled her eyes again.

"Alan, how did you find us?" I demanded.

Alan grinned and cleared his throat dramatically. "I heard about your trip from Miss Mallory Pike of Slate Street. I ran into her and her date at the library, where I was checking the card catalogue for nude art books. Then, last Thursday, while playing video games in the bedroom of one Logan Bruno, I happened upon a sheet of crumpled pink stationary in the wastebasket. As it was decorated with iridescent kitten stickers, I assumed it to be a love letter from Mary Anne Spier. Alas, it was not a letter, but the address and phone number of a house in Amsterdam! As well as a flight number and departure time. Imagine the luck!"

"Imagine my fist!" I shouted, waving it in his face.

He blew me a kiss.

I gritted my teeth and growled, "Why are you here?"

"For the culture, Kristin!" Alan replied, dancing a jig. "For the food! The history! The people! And, of course, for the ladies of negotiable affections." Alan winked at Greer.

"What lady would negotiate, let alone compromise, her affections for you?" I demanded.

"One who likes money," Alan replied. He clapped his hands together. "Now, let's put on our thinking caps and figure out a way to get me out of here. Not only am I famished, I greatly need the use of the facilities."

"Excuse me, we will _not_ help you, Alan Gray. Do you realize how many federal and international laws you've broken with your stupid dog carrier stunt? Helping you would be aiding and abetting! Conspiracy after the fact! If anyone in Stoneybrook learned I harbored a fugitive the reputation of the Baby-Sitters Club would be ruined! I can't preside over meetings from a jail cell! Did you think of that, Alan? Do you ever think about the Baby-Sitters Club?"

Alan smiled, slyly. "Only late at night,"

Augh! That pest! That immature, obnoxious, BSC-disrespecting pest!

"Get in the carrier, Alan," Abby ordered.

"What!" I yelled.

"We can't leave him here. How would _that_ look for the BSC?"

I do not appreciate the authority of my presidency being called into question. Especially in the presence of non-members. Still, a good and fair president knows when to accept the decisions of the people.

"Cover up," I grumbled, snapping the door shut.

With great effort and much huffing, we pushed the carrier through Customer Relations. Abby and Greer sniffed and wiped away imaginary tears as the three of us waved goodbye to Mr. Hess. Abby, Greer, and I pushed the carrier straight through Schiphol airport.

I tried not to think about howI'd explain Alan to Shannon.


	9. Shannon

_Hi Polly! _

How are you? How was Argentina? I'm sure you didn't have near the fun I'm having. Not only is Amsterdam beautiful, it's also full of excitement. Like an adventure waiting to happen! 

Your friend, 

Shannon 

I admit that I was exaggerating a little. Okay, _a lot_. So far, Amsterdam had been nothing but a drag. Almost everyone was either bickering or acting truly bizarre. Or, in Dawn's case, both. I was beginning to regret the entire trip. Obviously, the Baby-Sitters Club couldn't be in close quarters for more than twenty-four hours without developing homicidal tendencies toward one another. It was a huge disappointment. 

There were other troubles, too. 

My mom was a wreck. Even though it was Sunday, Cousin Saskia's attorney made an appointment to meet with Mom right after lunch. I went along for moral support. A lot of good I did. Mom was a mess through lunch and on the tram to the attorney's office. Once there, Mom and the attorney, Mr. Weimann, spent _three hours_ talking. What they talked about I've no idea because they kept slipping in and out of Dutch. 

After leaving Mr. Weimann's office, Mom took me back to Verbruggenhuis. She went out again, but wouldn't say where to. I found Maria and Amanda working on a jigsaw puzzle in the den, completely bored out of their minds. I decided to take them to the Artis Zoo for a few hours. Greer refused to come, claiming she needed to rest. She was under the impression everyone would be staying out until three a.m. 

Probably, she was just sick of Amanda. I know I was. Maria and Amanda hadn't fallen into the old groove of their friendship. In fact, they were barely tolerating each other's existence. They spoke in simple one or two word sentences. 

Of course, the zoo trip was an absolute nightmare. Maria wouldn't stop making animal noises. She wasn't even imitating the correct ones. Like, she kept mooing at the elephant habitat. Even the elephants were annoyed. I pretended not to know her. 

Amanda was worse. Whenever she saw a zoo employee, she would ask them how much the nearest animal cost. No matter what the answer, Amanda replied, " I have a cat named Priscilla. She cost four hundred dollars." If a zoo employee wasn't around she would ask any random person how much _they_ thought the animal cost. Several people attempted to avoid her by speaking french, not knowing that Amanda -at age eight - is almost fluent in the language. 

By five 'o' clock, I was close to losing my mind. I dragged Maria away from the orangutans (and her weird monkey dance) and Amanda away from a confused octogenarian, who kept shouting, "a gold fish fountain in the foyer?" On the way out, we made a quick stop at the gift shop, so Amanda could buy a t-shirt for her younger brother. The entire tram ride to Verbruggenhuis, Amanda showed the t-shirt to various passengers while marveling, "Can you believe this cost seventeen Euros?" 

Due to a pounding headache, I was not thrilled to find a sign on the front door reading: _Emergency BSC meeting! Seven 'o' clock SHARP in the attic! (all members + Anna). _ I barely had time to wonder why Greer was excluded before I was confronted with the drama and chaos inside. 

Tiffany was ranting over being excluded from the BSC meeting. Kristy, Abby, and Greer were locked in the attic and refused to let anyone inside. Jessi and Mallory were fighting, but no one knew why. Mary Anne was sobbing into her pillow, but no one knew why. Claudia and Stacey weren't speaking, but not even Claudia knew why. Dawn was banging on the attic door, screeching about fire hazards. Even Anna was irritated, storming up and down the stairs, grumbling about crunchy Californians and Connecticut crybabies. 

Something had gone seriously, seriously wrong between the morning and the evening. 

At a quarter to seven, Mom and Mrs. Carson left for dinner with Maria, Amanda, and Tiffany (still ranting over her exclusion). By then all the arguing and crying had quieted down. Even Dawn had her mouth shut for once. We gathered at the bottom of the stairs, everyone complaining that the emergency meeting could only mean bad news. 

"Kristy probably wants us to open a day care at one of those hash bars," mumbled Jessi. 

"Would we get paid?" Stacey asked, which seemed like a rather brainless question. 

"I have much more important things to do this vacation. In fact, it's really not a vacation for me," Dawn looked around at us, smugly. "I'm on a crusade," 

"Oh, when are you not?" Stacey snapped. 

Stacey stormed up the stairs. We followed with Dawn muttering under her breath about the narrow-minded superficiality of native New Yorkers. You know, I don't recall actually inviting Dawn on this trip. Either she invited herself or Mary Anne did. Thanks a lot, Mary Anne. 

At the top of the stairs, I rapped on the locked door. Behind the door, we heard whispering, scurrying, and the clatter of the closet door. I glanced at my watch and rolled my eyes. This was ridiculous. I knocked louder. We waited. 

"Maybe tomorrow we can go to the Anne Frank House," Mallory suggested to Mary Anne. 

"Touring the attic will be absolutely heartbreaking," Mary Anne replied with a sniff. 

Behind me, Claudia whispered to Anna, "Who are Anne and Frank? Are they related to Shannon?" 

Sometimes I wonder about Claudia. 

The door cracked open and one of Abby's dark eyes peered out. "Who goes there?" she giggled. 

"_Head count! Head count!_" Kristy hissed from inside the room. 

"Oh please," I grumbled, shoving the attic door open. 

Kristy was seated at the center of the room in a makeshift directors chair made from a milk crate, some rolling pins, and her favorite Easter sweater. She had created a visor out of a gardening spade, dental floss, and a couple eyeliner pencils. Never had Kristy looked so stupid (and that's coming from someone who's seen her President's Day sweater.) 

"Sit down, sit down," Kristy said, briskly. She banged a plastic whisk on the nearest bedpost. "The emergency meeting of the Baby-Sitters Club is now called to order," Kristy turned to Greer, who was seated indian-style on Claudia's bed. "Greer will be acting as secretary since she is familiar with the current situation. Sorry, Mary Anne." Mary Anne threw her arms around Anna and sobbed. Anna appeared disgusted. "Greer, please note for the record that two non-members are in attendance for tonight's emergency meeting - Miss Greer Carson and Miss Anna Stevenson. This is a rarity and likely will never happen again. In fact, it's never happened before." Kristy paused dramatically to allow the thrill of the moment to sink in. 

Jessi breathed a stunned "wow". 

"Charlotte came to a meeting," sniffled Mary Anne. 

"Yeah," agreed Mallory. "So, did Laine." 

"I think Janine did, too," added Claudia. 

"That plastic whisk isn't biodegradable," said Dawn. 

"Those weren't _emergency_ meetings," snapped Kristy. "Now, we have important business to discuss. This afternoon, Abby, Greer, and I made a horrible discovery. One that threatens our morals, beliefs, and the future of the Baby-Sitters Club. We must make a decision regarding this problem. Remember, the consequences of our actions could follow us the rest of our lives." 

Anna yawned and glanced at her watch. Jessi bit her fingernails. Everyone else was staring intently at Kristy. Except Stacey, who was counting on her fingers and mumbling to herself. And, except for Dawn, who was still eyeing the plastic whisk suspiciously. 

"Can we get on with it, Kristy?" I asked. 

Kristy took a deep breath. "Abby? Please show them what's in the closet," 

Abby saluted and marched to the closet. She bowed deeply toward Kristy, then turned the knob of the closet. She slowly pulled the door open. 

Mary Anne gasped when a dark-headed boy jumped out of the closet and squirted Abby with a plastic flower pinned to his shirt. All the club members groaned. 

"You've got to be kidding me!" yelled Claudia. 

"Alan Gray! Ugh!" shrieked Mallory. 

"_This_ is Alan Gray?" I asked. 

He bowed. "My reputation proceeds me," He reached for my hand and kissed it. 

"Not _that_ again, Alan!" Kristy shouted. "The first time was gross enough. Keep your slimy lips off my friends!" 

Alan dropped my hand. "Twas not meant to be, _ma cherie_," 

"Alan Gray, you're such a goon!" I don't know who yelled that. It could have been anyone. 

"What is Alan doing here?" Dawn demanded. 

Kristy and Alan launched into the story of Alan shipping himself to Amsterdam. They kept stopping to argue over details, then Kristy would bang the whisk and declare herself the "winner". They winner of what, who knows. It took twenty-five minutes for them to reach the part of the story where Kristy, Abby, and Greer helped Alan escape the airport. By then, everyone was tired of the story and of Kristy and Alan's bickering, so we quickly redirected the conversation. 

"What about your parents, Alan?" asked Anna. 

"They think I'm in Myrtle Beach with Pete Black's family. Pete's sending postcards for me," 

"Pete Black's such a great guy!" exclaimed Mary Anne. 

"He's a dead guy the next time I see him," grunted Kristy. 

"Where are you staying?" asked Jessi. 

Kristy, Abby, and Greer exchanged a Look. 

"Well, all my money's tied up in planned extra-curricular activities," Alan replied. 

"He wants to stay here," Greer told us. 

The entire Baby-Sitters Club (including Anna) exchanged a Look, which took awhile. Then, we burst into argument. 

"No way is Alan Gray staying here!" shouted Dawn. 

"He's a _boy_!" hissed Mallory. 

"What would Logan think?" asked Mary Anne. 

"Who cares about Logan! What about my mother?" I demanded. 

"Exactly how much money does Alan have?" asked Stacey. 

_Fweet! Fweet!_

I distinctly remember telling Kristy to _not_ bring her whistle. 

"Quiet!" she shouted. "Let's take a vote. Who thinks we should allow Alan to stay?" 

Stacey's hand immediately shot into the air. Claudia looked confused (maybe the instructions were too complex) and raised her hand, too. Abby and Greer followed. Mary Anne wrung her hands, sniffing, then finally raised her hand. I glanced around the room. It was five for Alan, six against. I almost breathed a sigh of relief. I wouldn't have to lie to Mom. Nor would I have some goony boy hanging around the attic. 

Anna raised her hand. 

Alan whooped with joy, pulled Anna to her feet and started line dancing. Kristy buried her face in her hands. Dawn dug her fingernails into Mary Anne's arm and drew blood. It looked quite painful, but strangely enough, Mary Anne didn't cry. She seemed to enjoy it. 

"If this..._person_ is going to stay here, I'm setting some ground rules," I said, taking charge. Kristy appeared peeved, but I didn't care. Verbruggenhuis was _mine_. Or, at least, my family's. "First off, he must stay out of sight. Mom and Mrs. Carson must never know. The same goes for Tiffany, Maria, and Amanda. Second of all, he must stay in the attic. At least until Mom and the others have left the house. And, he must get back before them in the evenings. Agree?" 

Everyone nodded. 

Alan shrugged. "My plans are flexible. I can do what I need to do just as easily during the day," 

I swear, he winked at Greer when he said that. What a weirdo. 

"Wait," said Dawn. Greer groaned. Dawn glared at her. "Alan's sleeping in the attic? I am _not_ sharing a room with the goon of SMS!" Dawn tilted her face upward and snorted. Lovely. 

"There's nowhere else he can sleep without the risk being seen," I replied. 

"Don't worry, Dawn," Kristy said. "We'll lock him in the closet." 

"That's not good enough. I refuse to share a room with a subhuman. It's bad enough sharing with a bunch of carnivores. I demand someone change with me," 

"I will," Greer volunteered, quickly. 

Dawn narrowed her eyes. "Thanks," she said, icily. 

Stacey and I covered our mouths to suppress groans. Not even Mary Anne looked pleased. Although, Kristy's mood improved greatly at the news. 

"I'm starved," said Abby. "Let's try that greek restaurant, _De Twee Grieken_." 

Everyone agreed, but I lost my appetite. I couldn't believe this was happening. The trip was a disaster already and now I had to worry about some goofy boy running amok in my house? Mom would kill me if she found out! However, none of the BSC seemed to care. Not even Kristy. She didn't want Alan there anymore than I did. But, she objected to his presence not out of loyalty or concern. She just loathed the guy. 

Alan held the attic door open for everyone. He gave Greer's rear a slap as she passed by. Instead of slugging him, like I would, Greer giggled. Dawn refused to allow Alan to hold the door for her, so he let go and gave it a gentle push, so it would hit Dawn in the head. Maybe he wasn't _too_ bad. 

Stacey and I were the last ones out of the attic. I turned to ask Stacey if she liked Greek food, but didn't get a word out. Instead, I saw Stacey wink at Alan and quite possibly slip her hand where it did not belong. Unless my ears deceived me, she whispered something about his "wad". 

Face bright red, I rushed down the stairs. This trip was a bad idea. A very bad idea, indeed. 


	10. Claudia

Author's Note: This chapter was written by the funny and talented **emerald-doll**. In fact, she had the chapter completed weeks ago, but I was too slow finishing Abby, Kristy, and Shannon. Thanks for the patience and creative contribution, **emerald-doll**! You've done a fabulous job!

* * *

_Dear Mom, Dad and Juhnine, _

Hallo from Amsterdam! And dun't worry I did spill Hallo rite, just the Amsterdamian way! It's way warmer here than I thut it would bee. Our group is getting uhlong very well and having a nice time. I plan to go have some brownies today, they are famous for them hure.

Dag! (dun't worry that mens goodbye!)

Love,

Claudia

Oh my Lord. I just adore Amsterdam. The Dutch are super friendly people who always smile and even laugh with happiness (and probably envy) at my outfits. The weather is not at all what I expected. The Celsius temperatures are quite confusing. I had to take my down ski jacket and unstuff it so I didn't suffocate when we went shopping yesterday.

But that's cool. I plan to make either a sculpture of a life sized sheep or use it to accessorize my Birkenstock sandals.

I had big plans while in Amsterdam. There were museums that I couldn't wait to see. Mary Anne had informed me that there was a Vincent Van Gogh museum that houses over 200 paintings and 500 drawings are on permanent exhibition. Someday, I hope to have my work shown in an actual museum like that, but for now my parents garage in Stoneybrook would have to do. It was harder than I thought to find someone who wanted to go with me. Anna had finally agreed to come with me after I told her about my other great find.

Abraxas was a coffeeshop that features not only music (which Anna enjoys) but also decorative mosaic artwork. Finally, I had knowledge of something that Mary Anne didn't. They were very well known for their brownies and other dessert items. I couldn't wait! They had some sort of special ingredient. I wonder what it was! Ooh, I hoped it sparkled. I had the perfect outfit planned to coordinate with sparkling brownies.

Suddenly, I got worried. What if the magic ingredient was german chocolate? I had a terrible experience with it in the airport. After buying a two-pound bar that cost me a whole days worth of baby-sitting wages, I realized there was chocolate out there that I didn't like. It was heartbreaking. Far worse than being sent back to seventh grade. At least we had normal Mars bars in the vending machines there.

Anyway, I had excitedly told the girls about the coffeeshop and was pleased to see that Anna was excited about our planned trip.

Mary Anne's eyes widened and she gasped, "Claudia you can_not_ go there. Are you aware about it at all? It consists of two historic buildings and it has a juice bar, but you can not eat - "

I bristled and cut her off. "Why not Mary Anne? Just because I knew something about the city that you didn't? Sorry little Miss Tour Guide, but I am not a dummy. I am capable of reading guard books, too. You can_not_ tell me what to eat either. You are not my mother".

Greer gave me a funny look and said, "I think you mean _guide_ books."

Dawn glared across the table at her. "Excuse me Claudia can express herself vocally however she chooses. If she wants to sound completely ignorant that is her right. And, no leather wearing, cow carcass eating murderer can tell her what to do. That job is reserved for members of the BSC,"

"Thanks Dawn. Now if you will excuse me, I must get ready for my day," I stood and motioned for Anna to follow me back to our rooms.

"Gosh, everyone seems to be a little on edge with each other," Anna said, nervously.

"Don't worry about it. When you have been on as many trips as we have together, you learn that it will all work out in the end," I tried my best to reassure Anna. Although right now I was so mad at Miss Know-It-All Spier that I didn't care if we ever made up.

Twenty minutes later, we were ready to go and stood outside waiting for the cab to arrive. I convinced Anna that we should take a cab, despite the expense. I didn't tell her the real reason I was avoiding the tram. Yesterday, after leaving Stacey, I got lost on the tram for three hours. At one point, I circled a four-block radius for forty-five minutes before noticing we were sailing right passed Verbruggenhuis.

The driver pulled up and we hopped in. "

Hallo. Where to ladies?" he asked and turned around to smile at us. He did a small double take at my outfit (it was very lovely) and then added, "Abraxas?"

"Oh my Lord, yes! How did you know?" I was mystified. Anna and I exchanged surprised glances.

Wild guess, ma'am," he said and shifted the car into gear.

We had decided to go to the coffeeshop before the museum, so we could have some delicious treats to snack on while looking at the art. The Kilbourne household was severely lacking in treats and candy. Last night, I had to mix butter with brown sugar just to come up with a suitable after-dessert snack.

The people of Abraxas were obviously impressed by my outfit. A man with dreadlocks and rampant body odor gasped and squealed when I walked in the door.

"Zij kijkt alsof Wense Wonka!" he cried.

I have no idea what he said, but I heard "Wonka". He recognized the inspiration for my outfit. Yes, I was Willy Wonka. Well, if Willy Wonka were a thirteen year old Asian girl with flawless skin and a fantastic sense of style.

I started with a purple jacket (with the fleece lining removed) and under it was a ruffled white blouse. My pants were red corduroy and I had glued candy bar wrappers onto my Doc Marten boots. My hair hung in two long braids, which I tied off with plastic bread bags with the Wonderbread logo on them. Atop my head was a top hat, but instead of boring black, like everyone wore, I had covered mine in lime green felt with real gummy bears attached.

Anna led the way to the counter and I flashed a smile at the cute guys lounging on a couch near the back. This place was fantastic! Who needed Mary Anne and her guidebook knowledge? I'd discovered the _real_ Amsterdam!


	11. Jessi

_Dear Mama and Daddy, _

I know you were worried about my traveling to a foreign country. All that worrying was unnecessary. Amsterdam is extra distant. The city's clean and real safe. I also met some new friends. I can imagine your faces - STRANGERS! Don't worry though, they're black. 

Hugs and Kisses, 

Jessi 

Whoa. I left a lot out of that postcard. I felt sneaky, but there are just some things you can't tell your parents. Especially when you're eleven and black. 

Did that shock you? That I'm black, I mean. You probably didn't realize. Don't worry, a lot of people are insensitive like that. Lately, my friends have been extremely insensitive. In particular, my so-called best friend, Mallory Pike. Sometimes, it's like they forget that I'm black. They act like it's no big deal or something. Like I said, insensitive. 

This insensitivity really came to light on Sunday when Mary Anne, Mallory, Anna, Tiffany, and I went sightseeing. Mary Anne suggested we take a bus tour of Amsterdam, so we could see the entire city before focusing on certain areas. We joined a tour group at the bus station. It was one of those double decker buses like they have in England. The bus driver was a Spaniard named Flavio, who spoke no English. We rode on the upper deck with the tour guide. 

Our tour guide introduced himself as Georg Gegenhuber from Austria. Georg was fifteen and spoke with a light German accent. It was obvious right away that he had a thing for Mary Anne. He was as impressed with her guidebook knowledge as we were annoyed with it. Frankly, I thought Georg was kind of a geek and more Mallory's type. He even sort of looked like Ben Hobart. My ex-sort-of boyfriend, a black ballet dancer named Quint was much cuter. I called him my yummy dancing chocolate drop. 

Every time Georg smiled at or spoke to Mary Anne, Mallory, Anna, and Tiffany would nudge each other and say, "ooooh, Mary Aaaaane..." I didn't join in because I was really ticked off. Here's what happened: 

Georg introduced himself at the start of the tour. When he told us he was originally from Austria, Tiffany whispered to Anna, "Where's Austria?" 

Anna replied, "South of Germany and the Czech Republic." 

"Arnold Schwarzenegger's from Austria," said Mary Anne. She raised her voice. "My boyfriend, Logan, loves Arnold Schwarzenegger. Logan will probably be Mr. Olympia someday, too." 

Anna gave Mary Anne a funny look and said, "Austria's also the homeland of Adolf Hitler." 

"Whoa, how'd you know that, Anna?" asked Mallory. 

"I read a lot about the second World War. I _am_ Jewish," 

Mallory blushed. "Oh, sorry, Anna! I forgot!" 

"There's nothing to be sorry about," replied Anna. 

From then on, whenever Georg pointed out a house a Jewish family hid in during the war or talked about the Holocaust, Mallory fretted over Anna's feelings. She was convinced that at any moment Anna would become hysterical. That made me Mad. Never had Mallory shown concern for my blackness and the plight of my people. Mallory didn't really even _know_ Anna. Plus, no one can look at Anna and tell she's Jewish. Anyone can look at me and instantly know I'm black. So, what did Anna have to be so concerned and upset about? Being Jewish is way easier than being black. 

I called Mallory on her insensitivity as soon as we returned to Verbruggenhuis. And, you know what? She denied everything. She acted as if she had no clue what I was talking about. I declared her my ex-best friend right then and there. I refused to sit with her at _De Twee Grieken_. She didn't care at all! She was too busy hiding behind her menu and ducking under the table. Back at Verbruggenhuis, I refused to play horses with her. She played with Tiffany instead. 

So, I said, goodbye and good riddance, Mallory Pike! 

That brings me to Monday, the day I wrote the postcard to my parents. After breakfast, everyone scattered. Mary Anne and Mallory took Maria and Amanda to see some four hundred year old church. Stacey and Dawn disappeared without a word. Claudia and Anna went to a museum and coffee shop (even I know that "coffee shop" means "hash cafe". I think Anna knew it, too). Kristy and Abby mentioned something about "conditioning". Shannon and Tiffany planned to go to the flea market Claudia raved about. Alan and Greer were discussing the red-light district, so they probably ended up there. 

Me, I took off on my own. I needed some time alone. I wandered along the Leliegracht until I ended up at a corner cafe. That's where I saw _him_. The most gorgeous boy in the world. 

He was black (like me) with muscles and a huge grin. I figured he was about fourteen. He wore cut-off jean shorts and a white mesh wife-beater and no shoes. He was _perfection_. Except for one thing: dreadlocks. Thick, long, ratted dreadlocks. A Rastafarian. My parents disapprove of such people. Aunt Cecelia calls them "the armpit of decent society" and says they don't bathe and have lice, roaches, and spiders living in their hair. 

He was seated on the outdoor patio with two other Rastafarian boys. They had on those black, red, and green knitted berets that Rastafarians often wear. Neither boy was nearly as handsome as the first boy. I desperately wanted to meet him, but I'm not very experienced with boys. If only Stacey were there! She's _very_ experienced. And sophisticated. 

Luckily, my many years of ballet have provided me with great poise. I took a deep breath and marched right up to his table. "Hello," I said, confidently. 

All three boys looked at me. My guy smiled widely. "Ah, hallo, lil sistren," he replied. He extended his hand, slapped his palm against mine, then shook it. "How ah you dis mornin'?" 

"Fine," I squeaked, confidence fading. "And you?" 

"All fruits ripe," he answered with a giant grin. 

I guess that was good. 

"Tek ah seat, lil sistren. You 'mongst bredren. I and I all chidren of Jah," 

He lost me at "tek a seat", but that didn't matter. I sat down as quick as possible. 

"My name's Jessica," I introduced myself. It was much more mature than "Jessi". I didn't want him to know I was only eleven! "I'm visiting Amsterdam with some friends." 

"I am Mosiah. Dis is Judah, my bredda. I and I come fram Jamaica. An' dis is Teak. He come fram down da street," 

"Hello, hello," I replied, nervously. "Not to be rude, but what does 'I and I' mean?" 

Mosiah laughed. "Rastas say 'I and I' instead of 'you and I' or 'we'. It implies no one is greater than some other an' unites us under da love of Jah," 

"Jah?" 

"God," said Judah. 

I felt totally clueless. I also felt out of place, but Mosiah and his friends were fascinating. 

"Who is this?" 

I looked up and saw a girl standing by the table. She wore a pair of dark brown clogs and an ankle-length silver floral-print dress. Her dishwater blonde hair was in long, thin dreads. Get this - she was _white_. 

"Ah, Heather!" Mosiah greeted her with a hug, as did Judah and Teak. "Dis is Jessica. She is also fram da United States," 

"Hey there, sistren," Heather high-fived me. "I'm from Iowa. How about you?" 

"Connecticut. Originally from New Jersey," Oh no! Could Heather be Mosiah's girlfriend? She's white! But, none of the boys acted lovey-dovey with her. Maybe, she was just their friend. I didn't want to miss a chance with Mosiah! 

Heather sat down and started an animated conversation with Mosiah about how they each came to Amsterdam and met. Heather and her mom moved to Amsterdam five years ago. Her mom used to be a corporate attorney until she saw the realities and consequences of materialistic white society. She and Heather relocated to the Dutch Caribbean, where her mom met her lifemate, Egbert. Now, they own a coffee shop called_Rasta Fantasy_. Mosiah and Judah lived in Jamaica until last summer. Their grandmother, who raised them, died. So, they came to Amsterdam to live with their father and his new family. Mosiah and Judah met Heather soon after. Heather's sort-of stepdad, Egbert, kept throwing them out of the coffee shop. Finally, he assigned Heather to keep an eye on them. They've been friends ever since! 

I wish the stories of how I met my friends were as interesting. But they aren't. 

I learned a few things about Mosiah. Like Heather and Teak, Mosiah is fourteen. (Judah is thirteen). Also, Mosiah is a vegetarian. Except, he eats small fish. The best part though - Mosiah doesn't have a girlfriend! 

Mosiah and his friends taught me a lot about Rastafarianism. For example, did you know that black, red, and green are symbolic colors for Rastafarians? Black represents the color of Africans, red represents the blood shed by Rastafarians during their struggle for liberation, and green represents Ethiopia, the promised land. Also, Rastafarians aren't allowed to drink alcohol, coffee, milk, or soft drinks. Nor can they eat scavengers like pigs, shrimp, or crabs. That's why many Rastafarians are vegetarians. Dawn would probably like Rastafarians, but I doubt they'd like her. 

"You know," said Heather. "Jessica would look radical with dreadlocks!" 

"Ya, mon!" agreed Judah and Teak. 

"How 'bout it? What do you say?" grinned Mosiah. 

No way! That's what I say! 

"We can do it at my house," said Heather. "I'll backcomb it. It's a completely natural way. It'll only take a few hours," 

"Uh, I don't know..." 

"Dun know?" repeated Mosiah. "All look betta wit dreadlocks. Day bring all closer to Jah. Day is ah natural beauty, mos def," 

"My parents wouldn't like it," I told him. 

"Mudda an' Fadda 'ave been too influenced by Babylon," Mosiah replied. Babylon is the corrupt white patriarchy that has oppressed the black race through poverty and slavery. "Day muss see da troot through da dreads. It is how you meant to be, Jessica," 

I bit my thumbnail. Would Mama and Daddy realize the power of the dreads? I felt deep in my soul that Mosiah spoke the truth. Our hair was meant to dread. Babylon had stripped us of our natural beauty by convincing us that dreads are unnatural and unclean. I knew my parents wouldn't understand. I knew the Baby-Sitters Club wouldn't understand. I didn't care. I knew what I had to do. 

It was time to get in touch with my black self. 

"Okay," I said with a deep breath. "Let's do it. Let's dread my hair," 

No longer would I simply be Jessica Ramsey: Babysitter or Jessica Ramsey: Black Ballerina. Instead, I would become someone new - 

Jessica Ramsey: Rastafarian. 


	12. Stacey

_Dear Barbara - _

Hey girl! I'm sending this postcard to your house because I'm afraid you'll beat it home from camp. If not, you'll have a surprise waiting for you! 

I've had some bad luck since arriving in Amsterdam. Things are looking up though thanks to Alan Gray (yep - the same Alan Gray from SMS. He's here. Don't tell anyone!) and my new boyfriend, Stas Petrauskas (isn't that a romantic name! He's from Lithuania! Could you look that up in an atlas for me?) I've also met this strange girl. I don't know if we'll become friends. I think she sort-of likes Stas. But he has eyes only for me! 

The next time you see me, I'll probably have a ring on my finger! 

XOXO - Stacey 

The postcard I sent Barbara was pretty long. I had to write super tiny and dot my _i_s with even tinier hearts. My hand cramped something awful. 

Barbara Hirsch is a friend of mine from the SMS Pep Squad. We aren't close friends or anything, but outside the BSC I don't really have any girl friends. I have a long string of ex-boyfriends, but probably they didn't care to hear about me and Stas. Especially after I'd broken their hearts. 

And, I couldn't tell the BSC about Stas either. He wanted to keep our relationship private since it's so new. He's really sweet and romantic like that. 

As I told Barbara, I'd had a run of bad luck. As a native New Yorker, I should have known to keep a closer eye on my purse. Even more foolish - _all_ my money was in my wallet. I knew better than that. 

Sunday on the tram, I panicked and rushed back to the cafe. I searched underneath the table in case my wallet had simply slipped out. No sign of it. I described the wallet to the cafe manager and to my delight - it had been turned in! That delight was short-lived, however, when I opened the wallet and discovered it empty. At least, empty of money. Only my SMS ID card, Mega Video membership card, and a gift certificate to Zingy's remained. 

I burst into tears right there in the cafe. What would I do? Who would I turn to? Then, it occurred to me: Stas and I were in luv. You can always turn to your true luv. I ran to The Gentleman's Delight. I knew I could count on Stas. 

"I need to see Stas!" I told the German girl. 

She smirked. (what else was new?). "Stas lost interest already?" 

"No!" I cried. "This is an _emergency_! Did he come back here?" 

"No. Stas did not return from lunch with little girl. Probably he went to other store," 

"Other store? What other store?" 

She smiled, wickedly. "The Forbidden Fruit," 

"Where is it? I must see him," 

"Store is in the Jordaan," 

"The Jordaan? I don't know where that is!" 

"Buy a map," she replied, then opened a German entertainment magazine and began reading. 

When I finally found the Jordaan and The Forbidden Fruit, Stas was already gone. I burst into new tears, as I left the store (which sells dried fruit. How random). As soon as I got back to Verbruggenhuis, I picked a fight with Claudia, who seemed a bit flustered herself. I had no reason to be angry with Claudia. I just had so many emotions boiling inside that I had to let them out, or else panic and go crazy. How would I survive two weeks in Amsterdam with no money? No way could I tell my parents what happened. I didn't want the BSC to know either. They expect me to be street-wise and Big City Sophisticated. They respect me for it and I didn't want to disappoint them. 

At the emergency BSC meeting we found out that Alan Gray had shipped himself to Amsterdam in a dog carrier. Everyone argued over what to do with Alan. Except me. I had just discovered six dollars in my pocket and was preoccupied with sorting out how to spread the money over two weeks. (I am a math whiz). 

However, I started paying attention as soon as Alan mentioned his money. In addition to being sophisticated, stylish, _gorgeous_, diabetic, and a math whiz, I'm also pretty clever. I knew _exactly_ what Alan had planned for his money. (I am a native New Yorker, after all). I thought, Alan had something I needed and I had something he wanted, so why not negotiate? 

Alan and I were the last ones to leave the attic. I gave him my sexiest wink and trailed my fingers along his inner thigh. I purred my proposal. Without hesitation, Alan agreed to the offer. He would buy my dinner in exchange for a later service. It's amazing the power of a well-placed hand. Alan completely melted. Or, well, the opposite of that. 

After dinner, Alan and I met in the alley behind Verbruggenhuis. It was dirtier and smellier than the places I usually trysted, but it didn't matter. I wouldn't be on my knees or pressed against anything. 

Alan was quite immature about the whole encounter. Not at all surprising. I couldn't expect him to handle himself with the same maturity and control as Mr. Johanssen or even Byron Pike. Alan giggled when I wrapped my arms around his waist and nibbled on his left ear. He shook with laughter as I undid his pants and totally rocked his world. 

Despite Alan's complete lack of self-control (in more ways than one), it went quite well. Except for when Dawn came along and started yelling at us. It was dark though and she was far away, so I'm sure she didn't recognize me and Alan. Perhaps, I could cash in Dawn's plane ticket. That would solve two problems. 

Alan promised not to brag to the guys at school. I didn't believe him for a minute, but took comfort that the last laugh would be on Alan when he learned that Pete, Austin, Logan, and Howie received my services for free. 

First thing Monday morning, I caught the tram to the Waterlooplein and The Gentleman's Delight. Stas wasn't there (neither was the rude German girl), so I took a tram to the Jordaan. At The Forbidden Fruit, a different girl was at the register than the day before. She was seated on a stool, engrossed in a thick novel. 

I walked up to the register. "Excuse me," I said. "I'm looking for Stas Petrauskas," 

The girl raised her dark eyes and peered at me over the glasses that hung on a chain around her neck. Very librarian-like. She pushed the glasses up the bridge of her nose, which was large and odd-shaped. She was around sixteen and would be pretty, if not for that nose. 

"What do you want with Stas?" she asked. 

I bristled. The last thing I needed was competition. "That's my business," I replied, coolly. "Is he here?" 

She stared at me awhile, then slipped off her glasses and cleaned the lenses. "No," she finally answered. "He's not here. I don't expect him until the afternoon," 

"I'll wait," 

"You shouldn't ," she told me. "You should just leave," 

I lifted my chin and held my tongue from the biting comments at its end. Stas could never love such a homely girl. Who was she kidding? Sure, she had the darkest, thickest red hair I'd ever seen and pouty dark pink lips that probably never required gloss or color. _But_, there was that nose and those dowdy old lady glasses on their green beaded chain. Poor girl was delusional. 

"I'll wait," I repeated, defiantly. 

I sat down on a chair in the corner and watched people pass on the street. When customers came in (which was often), I watched the girl. The men always went straight to the register, where she would pull out a thin brown leather-bound ledger. They'd speak to her in Dutch or German or French while she wrote in the ledger. Even in a foreign language the girl seemed unfriendly and curt (but efficient). After putting away the ledger, she led the men through the curtain behind the register. When the men reappeared twenty or thirty or forty minutes later, she took out the ledger again. All the men paid in cash. A few families came in and bought bags of dried fruit. I noticed the girl rang them up on the register, then after they left, she took out a _maroon_ ledger and wrote in it. 

Around twelve-thirty, my stomach growled. I knew I had to return to Verbruggenhuis for lunch. I wished I had thought to bring a lunch with me. 

"I'm going home for lunch," I told the girl, "but I'm coming back. Make sure Stas knows." 

I turned and started through the door. 

"Wait," she called. "I'll walk you." She disappeared behind the curtain, then reappeared within a minute. "Where are you going?" she asked when we were outside. 

"The Leliegracht," 

"The tram stop is this way," She walked purposefully down the street without another word, her hair swinging behind her. It was the longest hair - longer even than Dawn's- and almost reached mid-thigh. I thought she was dressed inappropriately for the season in navy blue slacks and a gray sweater. If I wasn't worried that she wanted to steal Stas, I'd have given her some serious fashion and hair care tips. 

She took me straight to the tram stop, then leaned against the canal railing and lit a cigarette. 

"Smoking's bad for your health," I informed her. 

"So are a lot of things," she replied. But she threw the cigarette on the ground and stamped it out with her shoe. "Where did you meet Stas?" she asked. 

"At the Gentleman's Delight," I replied. 

"Why are you looking for him?" 

"I told you, that's my business," I told her. I hesitated. "Why? Do you want him?" 

She laughed, rich and deep and mocking. "No, I don't want Stas. But I want to know why you want him," 

I don't know what came over me. The entire story poured out - Stas and the cafe and the money and the fear of telling my parents. Sometimes, it's easiest to admit secrets and truths to strangers. "And, so," I finished. "I'm hoping Stas will help me. Find my money or loan me some money. Or something," 

The girl stared silently, took another cigarette from her pocket, lit it, and took a long drag. She turned her head away as she exhaled. 

"I'll give you fifteen Euros to go away," 

"Excuse me?" I replied, sharply. What was with this girl? She wanted me to believe she had no interest in Stas? Yeah right! I was competition and she knew it. Probably, Stas had talked about me nonstop. Now that she'd seen me, she was worried. Enough so to offer to pay me off. No way, Chiquita. Stacey McGill can not be bought. At least not by girls. Nope. Stacey McGill knows when she's found true luv. 

"Fifteen Euros," she repeated. "Fifteen Euros to forget Stas and disappear," 

"I knew you were jealous!" 

She laughed again. "How old are you? Thirteen? Fourteen?" 

"Thirteen and _a half_," I snapped. Well, it was _almost_ true. 

"I met Stas when I was fourteen. I'll be seventeen in October. Trust me, with Stas, three years can feel like thirty," She puffed some more on her cigarette. I may be sophisticated, but I still think smoking's gross. It's probably why she looked sixteen and yet, so...old. 

"Go home," she told me. "Call your parents. Nothing they say will compare to what Stas will do to you." 

The tram came then. It stopped a few feet from us. We watched the exiting passengers climb down the steps. 

"Will you tell Stas I came by?" I asked her. "My name is Stacey McGill," 

For the first time, she smiled. Very sadly. "I know it is," she replied, then offered her hand. "Orchid Wickersham. It's a pleasure to meet you, Stacey, but a pleasure I hope to never have again," 

I climbed the tram stairs then and watched her retreat from the window, headed back toward The Forbidden Fruit. A tiny voice tugged at my brain, like I should listen. But, in matters of true luv, I am ruled solely by my heart. And, my heart wanted Stas. It did not want to share with a jealous girl named Orchid Wickersham. 

At Verbruggenhuis, I made an egg-salad sandwich. I ate quickly, checked my insulin levels and changed into a striped fuchsia sundress. I sprayed Enchanted Summers on my cleavage, then chased a tram halfway down the block. When I arrived in the Jordaan, I checked my hair and make-up before turning the corner to The Forbidden Fruit. I spotted Stas through the window. My heart skipped a beat. He stood at the register with Orchid, leaning over the brown ledger. Orchid stabbed at the open ledger repeatedly with a finger while Stas shook his head. An argument! Quite clearly, there was absolutely nothing between them romantically. Stas was mine. 

I tapped on the glass and waved. When Stas looked up a gorgeous grin spread across his finely chiseled face. I ran inside and jumped into his arms. I knew I was safe. Stas and I kissed a long while right there in the middle of the dried fruit store. No man or boy had ever lit such a passionate fire within me. I opened my eyes at one point to see if Orchid watched us in her rabid jealousy. Instead, she was changing the register tape, face completely impassive. I expected anger and disappointment. She acted as if she didn't even know me! 

Stas broke away from my deep, sensual kiss. "I knew we would not be parted long," he told me. "Do not think me foolish, Stacey. I missed you. Terribly," 

"Oh, Stas," I sighed. "Stas, I need your help. Is there someplace we can be alone?" 

Stas squeezed my hand. "Of course. Follow me," 

Stas pulled me toward the curtain. Wow. I knew that Stas must really trust me. As we walked behind the register, Orchid took out the brown ledger again. I glanced over her shoulder just long enough to see her turn to a blank page and write the first arch of the letter "M". 


	13. Mallory

_Dearest Ben, _

You may be wondering why I'm writing a letter instead of a postcard. I have so much to tell you and I don't want your family reading my secret. That may sound dramatic, but once you've read further you'll understand. Sit down, Ben, and promise to not faint from shock or worry. Are you ready?

I have a stalker.

Yes, that's what I said. A stalker. I don't know what she wants from me or how long she has stalked me. I first noticed her on the airplane and have seen her everyday since. I saw her twice Sunday on the tram and once Monday riding her bicycle along the Leliegracht. Plus, she was at the restaurant where we ate dinner Sunday night. And those are just the times I've noticed her. Who knows what bush she lurks behind at any moment.

I think she's trying to psyche me out. Monday, she waved to me. She even introduced herself on the airplane! I think her name is Guten Tag. I don't understand these crazy mind games of hers, but fear she has other operatives working with her.

Attached to this letter you'll find a sketch of her likeness. You may have to turn it over to the Amsterdam authorities. Unfortunately, I am not used to drawing human bodies, so I have given her the body of a mouse.

I am writing to you, dear Ben, because I fear I may not return to Stoneybrook. At least you will have this letter to clutch in the darkest moments of your grief, along with the knowledge that I thought you to be a bonzer bloke. I care deeply for you, darling Ben. I cherish you as my sort-of boyfriend. Remember, we'll always have the Stoneybrook Public Library.

If I do return, I'll finally grant your heart's desire - a coveted kiss from my sweet, sweet lips.

Fondly and Passionately,

Mallory Diane Pike

Normally, I would _never_ talk to Ben in such a way. But I really did fear for my safety at the hands of Guten Tag. What if Ben and I were not reunited in Stoneybrook? What if Ben never got to carry my books again or walk me to sitting jobs? Or, worse yet, what if he never got to brush his lips against mine while locked in a passionate embrace? Surely, Ben would be devastated. The thought churned my stomach.

I mailed the letter Tuesday morning. I knew it was a risk to walk onto the stoop by myself. I was willing to take that chance. For Ben.

In the envelope, I included a sexy polaroid of myself. I borrowed Tiffany Kilbourne's spaghetti strap nightshirt for the photo. I pressed my arms tight against the sides of my chest and tipped forward to create the illusion of cleavage. Tiffany said that boys find moist lips super sensual, so I decided to wet mine. Unfortunately, Tiffany snapped the photo mid-lick. In the photo, my tongue's hanging out and my eyes are half-closed. I think it adds a little mystery. I just hoped Ben would have a chance to thoroughly enjoy my allure. James told me that Ben's spent an awful lot of time in the bathroom lately.

After mailing the letter, I returned to the kitchen, where Mary Anne, Tiffany, and Anna were already eating breakfast. It's strange because the four of us were becoming sort of a group. Since arriving in Amsterdam, everyone else (except Shannon) had gone a bit nutty. Last night, I walked in on Kristy and Abby bench pressing bags of flour. Claudia was walking around with muffins in her pockets, looking a little bleary-eyed and bumping into furniture. Greer had overcome her initial distaste for Alan Gray and apparently they were having a summer fling. No one had seen Stacey since Monday morning, which we hadn't mentioned to Mrs. Kilbourne.

"What's goin' on, mon?"

Then, there was Jessi.

Mrs. Kilbourne's eyes almost popped out of her head when Jessi showed up Monday night with dreadlocks. Mrs. Carson simply appeared horrified, as did the rest of us. I don't know what's up with Jessi. First, she ranted at me for being culturally sensitive to Anna. Then, she refused to play horses, but got mad when Tiffany and I played. And, finally, she found some weird Rastafarian people and started dressing and talking like them. I like _Cool Runnings_ as much as the next girl, but Jessi is _not_ Doug E. Doug.

"Good morning, Jessi," greeted Mary Anne. "How are you?"

"All fruits ripe, mon," Jessi replied. She kept saying that, but no one could figure out why.

"We're going to the wax museum today with Kristy and Abby," Mary Anne told her. "Did you know that Madame Tussaud's first opened in Amsterdam in 1971? And, not only does it include wax figures of actors, actresses, and musicians, but also artists, royals, and politicians? I'm having my picture taken with Anne Frank. Want to come, Jessi?"

"Nah, tanks, mon. Teak an' Heather ah tekking I ta ah Rasta restaurant,"

Anna choked on her oatmeal. " You met a Rastafarian named _Heather_?"

"Ya, mon. She fram Iowa,"

Somehow, Anna managed to make oatmeal come out of her nose. The triplets would be dibbly impressed.

Jessi adjusted her beret. "Gotta go, mon,"

"Why is she talking like that?" Tiffany asked after Jessi left.

"Don't be mean," scolded Mary Anne.

We waited another half hour for Kristy and Abby to get ready. We worked on Maria and Amanda's jigsaw puzzle while we waited. Maria and Amanda had left early with Mrs. Kilbourne and Mrs. Carson to catch a train into Germany. They wouldn't be back until late. While Kristy and Abby finished their breakfast, I gazed out the den window and saw _her_. Guten Tag!

She was on her bicycle, stopped _right in front of Verbruggenhuis_. Her bicycle was pretty distant, old-fashioned and rusty with a big basket on the back and a little bell on the handle bars. No doubt she plotted her dirty deeds on that bicycle.

She was talking to an older girl. An informant? I tried to place the older girl, but could not recall seeing her before. Guten Tag was quite sneaky and discreet, pretending to be lost in conversation and never glancing at Verbruggenhuis. A crafty one, that Guten Tag. A worthy adversary for an expert sleuth like me.

How stale of me! I forgot to tell you the most disturbing part of the Guten Tag mystery! It happened Monday night. We were having dinner in this little rundown Chinese restaurant, totally enjoying our meal (except goony Alan Gray kept sticking chopsticks up his nose and singing "I am the walrus. Coo coo ca choo,"). There I was, minding my own business and just eating some tasty fried shrimp. Then, Tiffany shouted, "Hey! Isn't that Georg?" We all turned to see our tour guide - and supposed friend! - Georg Gegenhuber across the room with an older man and woman, a teenage girl, and...Guten Tag! I could not believe my eyes. I was shocked. Guten Tag and Georg were in cahoots! Georg probably wasn't even a real tour guide! His name probably wasn't even Georg! I felt betrayed.

_Fweet! Fweet!_

"Okay, troops! Let's head out!" Kristy called from the foyer, bringing me back to the present.

Oh no! I couldn't go outside with Guten Tag lurking about! What if she tried something? What if she planted some kind of homing device on me? Or..._what if she already had?_

"Uh...I've gotta go to the bathroom," I mumbled as I rushed upstairs. I slammed the bathroom door behind me. I splashed some water on my face, trying to compose myself. It was futile. Guten Tag had me on edge. Just like she wanted.

When I came back downstairs the den and foyer were empty. Where had everyone gone? Then, through the open front door I saw them...standing on the sidewalk talking to Guten Tag! Kristy and Abby were standing on either side of her with a map spread across the handlebars of her bicycle. Guten Tag was pointing down the street, explaining something. Her informant had slithered off somewhere.

"Hey, Mal! Did you fall in?" Abby shouted when she caught sight of me peeking around the door frame.

Quickly, I dove out of sight. "Uh...I changed my mind!" I yelled from where I lay on the floor. "I'm going to stay here!"

"Stop fooling around," snapped Kristy.

"I'm not. Just go without me,"

"You're not going to spend the entire trip writing in your notebook, are you?" asked Mary Anne.

"No! Now go!" I reached my arm around the door frame and waved them away.

Once I heard their footfalls retreat, I crouched under the window and peeked out. They were walking down the street with Guten Tag, who was walking her bicycle beside Kristy and pointing toward various buildings. I tried not to imagine what vital information my friends might accidentally disclose.

"Hi, Mallory,"

"Yaaaaaah!" I shrieked.

It was just Claudia!

"I've got a craving for some Swedish pancakes. Want to go find some with me?"

"Uh...no thanks, Claud,"

"Okay. I think I'll go down to Abraxas and see if anyone there is hungry,"

"Oh, uh, have fun,"

I watched Claudia walk back up the stairs. Then, I grabbed my purse and made a decision - I'd take this as my chance to steal away. If one of Guten Tag's informants watched from nearby...well, I'd just have to risk it.

Slowly, I slipped out the front door. I glanced around at my surroundings. The street was clear. No sign of Guten Tag or any of her known accomplices. I stepped carefully onto the sidewalk and started down the street in the opposite direction Kristy and the others had gone.

I was glad I hadn't worn one of my flashier outfits. Instead, I was just wearing a pair of beige plaid shorts and a beige t-shirt Claudia made for my birthday. It had little plastic cowboy boots and a real rope lasso glued on it! I just wish _Git Along Lil' Doggies!_ wasn't spelt _Giht Alung Lyl Daggies!_. But, I looked calm and casual. I hoped the purse Claudia had made out of an old cowboy boot wouldn't draw _too_ much attention. The spur tended to glint in the sun.

_Creak! Creak!_

I stopped dead in my tracks. What was that faint creaking? I took a deep breath and turned my head. Guten Tag was at the end of the street, but fast approaching on her bicycle of terror and misfortune. _Coming right for me._ I picked up my pace, while frantically searching for a place to hide.

_Creak! Creak!_

She was getting closer! I panicked and my feet became like lead. I could feel her nearing with each pounding of my heart.

Suddenly, a sense of calm washed over me. _Mallory,_ I said to myself, _what are you doing? Don't let fear run your life!_

I whipped around quickly and shouted, "Why are you stalking me, Guten Tag?"

My cry probably would have been more effective had Guten Tag not crashed into me. Her front wheel hit me in my special princess place and knocked me to the ground. Guten Tag flew off the bicycle and landed on the sidewalk shoulder first. I sat up on my bruised patootie and adjusted my glasses, which had gone askew. Guten Tag's were also askew and her legs were entangled in the bicycle.

"_Sind Sie verrueckt_?" she screamed.

I jumped to my feet as Guten Tag struggled to hers. We faced off.

"Why are you stalking me, Guten Tag?" I demanded.

She wrinkled her nose. "Why am I stalking you, hello?" she replied in a thick German accent. She sounded _just like_ Arnold Schwarzenegger. Normally, that would make me dibbly giggly. However, under the dire circumstances not even my love for _Last Action Hero_ could save Guten Tag from my rapid fire questioning.

"I don't understand your crazy talk,"

"_Entschuldigen Sie mich_, you are who is insane," She picked up her bicycle and started walking away, mumbling, "_Bloed Amerikanerin_."

By then I was on fire. I had no fear. "Don't walk away from me, Guten Tag. I demand answers." Whoa. I must have been channeling Kristy.

"_Ja, ja! Guten tag._ I know. You learned a German word. You don't even pronounce it correctly, crazy American girl,"

"I don't understand your circular jive talk,"

"We are even then," Guten Tag replied. She turned to walk away. I panicked. I needed answers! I couldn't spend the rest of the trip looking over my shoulder. Guten Tag's reign of terror over my life had to end.

I ran after her, then fell into a jog as she pedaled slowly. "Just tell me what you want with me. I need the truth, Guten Tag. You don't have to worry about my contacting the authorities. My friends and I prefer to deal with criminals on our own,"

Guten Tag stopped the bicycle and looked at me with her nose wrinkled again. "You think my _name_ is Guten Tag? I am Gerhild Gegenhuber,"

"On the plane you introduced yourself as Guten Tag!" I protested.

"_Guten tag_ is the German word for 'hello'. All I said to you was 'hello',"

"But you've been following me! I see you on the tram and you were standing right in front of Verbruggenhuis today!"

Gerhild blinked. "My family lives next door,"

I felt my entire body blush tomato red. Were these more mind games? "But, you were on the same plane! That's an awfully big coincidence!"

"My sister and I always fly Dam Airways. We visited our cousins in Michigan. We waited for connecting flight to Amsterdam when I heard you talk to other girls about Verbruggenhuis. Gudrun and I were curious,"

"That's it?"

I thought Gerhild hesitated a moment before replying, "Yes,"

It still seemed rather suspicious. I had a feeling there was something Gerhild wasn't saying. Something about Verbruggenhuis. My mind flashed to what Dawn had suspected - that Verbruggenhuis was haunted! A chill ran down my spine.

"What language is that on your shirt?" Gerhild asked.

I glanced down at the t-shirt Claudia made for me. "Uh...it's...um, sort of a Connecticut dialect,"

"Do you like pirates?"

"I've never met one,"

Gerhild giggled. "You make me laugh, crazy American girl. I am going to the video rental store for a new pirate movie. I love pirates,"

I hesitated. She could be setting a trap. Could I trust her? I studied Gerhild carefully. She appeared harmless. We were about the same height, but while I was sturdier, Gerhild was quite small and bird-like. If she got out of hand, I bet I could snap her in half.

Another thing I noticed, Gerhild was a pretty chilly dresser. She wore a pair of navy-colored pleated shorts, a blue-gray sleeveless top with a little pirate embroidered on the left shoulder, navy knee socks, and saddle shoes. Her hair was tied back with a blue-gray striped scarf. I could definitely learn a few things about fashion from Gerhild. Those shorts were extra distant.

"Yeah, I guess I like pirates,"

We smiled and shook hands.

"Mallory Pike," I introduced myself, "of the Connecticut Pikes." Wow. That sounded super impressive.

"Gerhild Gegenhuber," She pointed toward Verbruggenhuis. "My mother and stepfather live next to you. I am here for the summer holiday. The rest of the year, I live in Graz with my father. That is in Austria. Gudrun and Georg live here the whole time."

I giggled. Gerhild, Gudrun, and Georg Gegenhuber? From Graz? Gerhild gave me a puzzled look, so I didn't say anything. I didn't want her to think me rude or ill-mannered. Americans have a bad enough reputation without me acting stale.

Gerhild and I walked down the street together, the bicycle between us. Despite some lingering suspicions, I knew Gerhild and I would become great friends. I filed it at the back of my mind to ask her about Verbruggenhuis and its hidden mysteries. Maybe she'd tell me where she got those dibble shorts, too.


	14. Dawn

_Hey Dad, Carol, and Jeff! _

There's not enough space on this postcard to tell you all the good I've done for Amsterdam. Since my arrival, Suzanne's group has accomplished so much. Of course, I can't take all the credit, but after Suzanne, I'm the largest contributing factor. 

Love and Sunshine, 

Dawn 

I've moved a lot between California and Connecticut. I keep looking for where I belong. Well, I finally found that place. It's Amsterdam. Everything I've ever wanted is here. America is far too shallow and wasteful for me. Maybe Vista has an exchange program with a school in Amsterdam. 

I spent every waking moment on the campaign to restore the Ledseplein to its former glory. Everyone was dibbly impressed with my enthusiasm and commitment. They didn't expect an American to be so not self-centered. That's just how I am, forever working to tear down stereotypes. 

Suzanne and her friends were way more distant than the BSC and even my California friends. Only with Suzanne's group could I discuss the rain forest, pesticides, and the importance of crop rotation without anyone falling asleep or giggling like an ignorant, earth-hating bafoon. 

Suzanne van Dort was _amazing_. And, she was only fourteen years old! (I knew that by age fourteen my environmental success would eclipse hers. That's just the way I am). Suzanne was such a charismatic speaker that she'd gained a huge following of older teens. Her speeches had a hypnotic quality. Suzanne recognized my dedication and resourcefulness early on and allowed me into her inner-circle. 

Until I came along the inner-circle only consisted of two others - Suzanne's best friend and right hand _person_, Johanna van Rijn and a Russian named Vlad. Johanna was also fourteen. She had long long long straw-colored hair that she wore in braids. Mary Anne wore her hair like that when we first met. It looked babyish on Mary Anne, but on Johanna? Totally fresh. 

I didn't know much about Vlad. No one did. Suzanne and Johanna guessed his age to be nineteen. He moved around Amsterdam a lot, crashing on people's couches until they kicked him out. Vlad was what Stacey and Claudia call a Babe. He was about five foot nine with thick, wavy black hair and a thick black eyebrow, which he usually hid behind dark sunglasses. Vlad always dressed in black jeans and tight black t-shirts. He was kind of the nervous sort, frequently looking over his shoulder in public. 

After our ten hour protests in the Ledseplein the four of us would go over to Johanna's apartment near the Ledseplein. Johanna lived with her grandparents. She hadn't seen her parents in four years. I don't know what happened to them. Suzanne once made a vague mention of a Polish prison, an air conditioner factory, and industrial terrorism. 

Tuesday evening, we were lounging around Johanna's bedroom snacking on unsalted sunflower seeds (we decided to boycott sodium after learning that it causes soft water. The earth's water is a beautiful natural resource) and drinking fresh-squeezed orange juice (only _natural_ sugars). 

"I feel better already!" I exclaimed. "If only everyone would realize the benefits of healthy living. No processed sugars or artificial flavorings..." 

"And sodium," Johanna added with a shudder. 

"When will society see the error of its dietary ways?" I asked. 

Johanna shrugged, sadly. "I wish we could make people see it our way," She fiddled with the end of a braid. 

Suzanne, Johanna, and I heaved a collective sigh. (Vlad was busy chugging the rest of the orange juice). After another sigh, we fell into silent contemplation. How could we show all of Amsterdam that our cause was right and true? Usually, I'm overflowing with great ideas (more so than Kristy) but that evening I drew a blank. 

For awhile, I just watched Johanna pull at a hole in her acid-wash jeans. Actually, all of Johanna and Suzanne's clothes are full of holes. Their entire wardrobes are from thrift stores. They refuse to directly support the insensitive, unfeeling global corporations that exploit the third world slaves who mass produce their cheap, poorly-made clothing. Instead, Suzanne and Johanna shop at thrift stores, wear each item until it disintegrates to a pile of thread, then write a thank you note to the exploited workers who made the clothing. 

Johanna also only wears pants and long-sleeves because she believes shorts and t-shirts promote global warming. Another belief of theirs that I truly respect is that Suzanne and Johanna wear white exclusively. They suspect harsh clothing dyes are somehow damaging the earth, probably by leaking into water sources or through vaporous gases released into the ozone layer. They've started a letter writing campaign to Oxford University encouraging a comprehensive study. 

Since I respect and admire their beliefs, I adopted their personal dress code as my own. I tore the label off my Gloria Vanderbilt jeans and used a pair of scissors to create an impressive holey look. Unfortunately, they weren't acid-wash. So, I dumped some liquid bleach on them and threw them into the washing machine. The result was pretty fresh. I didn't have any plain white shirts, so on Tuesday I wore a baggy white t-shirt with a picture of a globe and the words _Don't Pollute My Earth._ Suzanne and Johanna gave it a pass on account of the positive environmental message. Vlad grunted his approval. 

"I have an idea!" Suzanne suddenly shouted. 

"What? What?" Johanna and I asked excitedly. 

Suzanne held up a hand. "Quiet," She straightened in her chair and cleared her throat. "All right. We've been leading the protest of the Ledseplein fast food restaurants for nearly three weeks. Yet, tourists and Amsterdamers aren't paying any attention. All those so-called restaurants are thriving. Especially McDonald's. It's time for something drastic. No more marches and signs and chants," Suzanne jumped out of her chair and pumped her fist in the air. "We will stand up and say, 'Sorry Mr. Corporate Machine. No longer will we allow you to pollute and pervert our city and our culture. We don't want reheated patties and soggy french fries. We want freedom!'" 

Johanna and I sprang to our feet, clapping wildly. In the corner, Vlad grunted. 

Suzanne climbed onto the chair and raised her arms over her head. "There comes a time when every cause must become a revolution. We will liberate every man, woman, child, and cow in the northern Netherlands!" 

By then, Johanna and I weren't just clapping. We were also stomping our feet and shrieking at the top of our lungs. 

Someone pounded on the bedroom door and a craggy voice yelled. "_Stilte!_ Quiet!" 

"Sorry, Granny!" Johanna shouted. 

Suzanne hopped off the chair. "We have much planning to do. There are arrangements to make." 

"My cousin Wilhem can get us some ammonium nitrate and diesel fuel," Johanna volunteered. 

"We're not doing _that_," snapped Suzanne. "Now, move into a tight circle. We don't want anyone to overhear." She dropped her voice to a whisper," This is what we're going to do..." 


	15. Greer

_Salut Meg! _

Comment ca va? Moi? Tres bien! Amsterdam est magnifique!

Okay, enough French! My brain hurts! I sure hope you're exercising your own French skills in Quebec. Culinary camp my derriere. You're cruising the streets for sexy French-Canadians! We'll swap our tales of international love and intrigue back in Stoneybrook.

Kiss-Kiss,

Greer

How would I describe Amsterdam? Fabulous. Spectacular. Extraordinary. Or, as I overheard Mallory say, freshly acute. (I assume that's a good thing). Word choice doesn't matter. I'd had non-stop fun since arriving in Amsterdam. Armed with IDs of questionable authenticity, Alan and I were spending all our time in the Red-Light district. Sex museums, nightclubs, adult-only stores. We were having a blast.

When I first met him, I thought Alan to be a giant pain. What sort of freak travels to Europe in a dog carrier? Quickly, it became apparent that Alan had an imagination and flair for the dramatic - two things seriously lacking in Verbruggenhuis. No offense to Shannon - she is my best friend, after all - but her babysitting friends were...not what I expected. For the most part, they were nice enough girls. (I'd rather not acknowledge Dawn's existence, thank you very much). I just didn't have anything in common with them. They may be excellent babysitters and businesswoman, but truthfully, they're a little immature.

For example, Kristy and Abby wouldn't stop using the banister as a pull-up bar, Jessi inexplicably turned into a Jamaican, Mary Anne cried more than I thought humanly possible, I don't even know what to say about Mallory, and Stacey...dear Lord! Was I the only one concerned that she'd been missing since _Monday_?

Is it any wonder I preferred the company of Alan? At least he was spontaneous and adventurous. I could overlook all the bowing and "milady" talk. Although, I hadn't figured out what was up with the yellow M&Ms.

Wednesday night, we decided to hit a club in the Red-Light district called Hotel Deconstruction. In Stoneybrook, Shannon and I had coordinated a fake ID operation with Claudia and Stacey. (I love when Shannon agrees to be bad!) Shannon assured me that Claudia and Stacey were the clubbing type. I knew we'd have a fab time.

Shannon and I got our IDs from my cousins Harlow and Fontaine. We paid a steep rental fee for them, too. They were worth every penny. And, they made us twenty and nineteen. As long as I straightened my auburn hair I almost became Harlow's twin. And, if Shannon used enough violet eyeshadow and Aqua Net she really bore a striking resemblance to Fontaine.

"Where did you get this, Alan?" Anna asked, studying Alan's fake ID.

"Pete Black and I made it at Copy City,"

"No kidding. Your photo's glued on," Anna replied. "And, it says your name is Pennyweather Macintosh."

Alan grinned and slipped the ID into his wallet.

We were gathered in the kitchen eating a quick dinner of peanut butter sandwiches and apple juice. Standing (or sitting) around the kitchen was myself (of course), Alan, Shannon, Anna, Mallory, and Mallory's strange new friend. Mary Anne and Tiffany had gone to dinner with Dawn and her new friends. (Why Mary Anne and Tiffany would subject themselves to such torture is beyond me. There's something not quite right about that Mary Anne girl). When Mary Anne and Tiffany returned, they - along with Anna, Mallory, and Mallory's friend (Gerturdie? Galena?) - were going to the cinema to see Cam Geary's latest movie. It was dubbed in Dutch. (Yawn. I saw it months ago in the _correct_ language).

Claudia was still upstairs putting together whatever mismatched creation she considered appropriate for clubbing. Shannon and I kept our outfits simple and functional. We wore tight-fitting black pants with thin tank tops that crept (quite provocatively, I might add) up our stomachs. Mine was olive green (fab for auburn hair), Shannon's was a pale carnation pink (not so fab for her complexion, in my opinion). We even wore matching shoes - black slip-on wedge sandals with knotted straps. Shannon had her always fluffy hair fluffed even higher and glued into place with an entire can of hairspray. My own hair was pulled high on my head in a tight ponytail. (Don't even ask how long it took to straighten it). I wrapped a black scrunchie around the ponytail and sprayed my hair with silver glitterhairspray. I wanted to sparkle under the strobe lights. We completed our outfits with some giant silver hoops and bangles I stole - er, _borrowed -_from Stacey.

Shannon and I were ready to rock and roll.

"We look pretty close, don't we?" I asked, as Shannon and I flashed "our" IDs around the kitchen.

"Yes, except Shannon could have gotten a little more height on her bouffant. It's out of the frame in this photo," replied Anna.

Shannon cocked her head to the side and narrowed her eyes.

"You guys! We're going to miss the coming attractions," whined Mallory. "That's so stale!"

Just then, Dawn walked into the kitchen with two other girls. I did a double take. One of them looked exactly like Dawn! Ugh. I was having enough trouble getting the original Dawn out of my life. I couldn't deal with another.

"Hey girls," greeted Dawn. "And Alan. And Greer,"

I rolled my eyes.

"These are my new earth-conscious non-carnivorous friends, Suzanne van Dort," Dawn gestured to the small brunette. "And Johanna van Rijn," Dawn gestured to her clone. "We're having our meeting here tonight. Johanna's grandparents are having a mahjongg party. And, Suzanne's family is having a...uh..."

Suzanne blushed slightly. "Barbecue," she squeaked. Her embarrassment was short-lived. She sniffed the air. "I smell aerosol hairspray."

Dawn nudged her with an elbow and nodded toward me. "That's _her_," she hissed.

Suzanne and Johanna nodded, knowingly. I rolled my eyes. Then, I noticed their outfits. "Are you going to a disco?"

All three glanced down at their _matching_ ivory zip-up jumpsuits.

"We bought them at the flea market," Dawn explained. "We're all very earth-conscious,"

"You said that already," I replied.

Dawn glared. "Unlike _some_ people, we don't believe in wasting fabric, no matter how unattractive. It all deserves a chance to be worn and admired,"

"If it's unattractive, who's going to admire it?" asked Mallory.

I snorted. One point for the frizzy-headed nerd!

Dawn didn't have a "snappy" reply, so Suzanne threw a fist in the air. "Nature first!"

I yawned.

"You are wearing polyester," observed Mallory's friend.

Dawn and her friends glared at us, then stormed out of the room. But, not before Johanna muttered "flesh eaters" or Suzanne threw another fist in the air and shouted, "Live green!"

Mary Anne and Tiffany passed them in the doorway. "Sorry, I had to change," apologized Mary Anne, pointing to her periwinkle t-shirt. It was covered in white ribbons and puff-painted kittens. "There was an...um, accident at dinner. Does pear juice stain?"

"Who are you?" Tiffany asked Alan.

"Er...we met him on the tram," answered Shannon. "He's from...Pennsylvania,"

"Intercourse, Pennsylvania," Alan added.

"You aren't Amish," replied Tiffany.

"Oh, Intercourse isn't strictly Amish," said Mary Anne. "Amish farms surround the village, but regular folk live in the village itself. Formerly known as Cross Keys, the village was founded in 1754, but the name..."

She was interrupted by a noise on the other side of the kitchen door. Claudia called out, " Guys! Wait til you see my outfit! It's the chilliest Kishi original yet!"

Shannon, Alan, and I groaned. Anna smirked. Mallory looked dismayed.

"Claud's a dibble and eclectic dresser," she protested.

"Here I come!" shouted Claudia. She jumped through the doorway. "Ta da!"

Everyone gasped. Shannon, Anna, and Tiffany's hands flew to their mouths. Mallory gave a standing ovation. Her friend appeared completely horror-stricken.

Claudia stood before us, an expression of triumph across her face. She wore a pair of shredded jean short shorts. So shredded, her American flag patterned bikini underwear were visible. Her "shirt" was an American flag patterned bra, which was worn under a shredded jean vest. Her shoes were clunky read plastic heels that lit up when she walked. Her hair was pulled into pigtails and tied with silver, red, and blue Christmas tinsel.

Claudia spun around to reveal a sequined American flag on her butt. The back of her vest had an elaborate (and perfect) recreation of Uncle Sam. His top hat had a real red, white, and blue pinwheel attached to it.

"Beautiful," sighed Mallory.

Claudia slapped her right butt cheek. The pinwheel started spinning, Uncle Sam's bow tie lit up, and _The Star-Spangled Banner_ drifted out of her shorts.

"Your butt plays music. That's impressive," said Anna.

"There are no words," whispered Alan.

Claudia beamed.

"Um...everyone ready to go?" I asked.

"I've got my dancing shoes on," answered Claudia, moon walking across the floor. "I just wish Stacey could come. I found her ID in her suitcase." Claudia held up the ID.

Alan snatched it away. "Dude! This looks professional!"

"Alexander Kurtzman did an excellent job," Claudia agreed. "It's an exact replica of his sister's Boston College ID."

Mary Anne raised an eyebrow. "Alexander 'Obey the Rules' Kurtzman?"

Claudia nodded. "They made a deal. She's tutoring him,"

"In the summer?" replied Shannon.

"Let me see that," Tiffany grabbed the ID from Alan. "This looks like me. I can be Stacey. I'm going with you."

Shannon chuckled. "No, you aren't. Stacey's ID says she's eighteen. You're eleven!"

"And you're thirteen!" snapped Tiffany. "I'll dress up. If you don't let me come, I'll tell Mom where you're sneaking off to."

Shannon glowered at her.

I shrugged. "Let her come. She won't get in. She'll just have a lonely tram ride home."

Tiffany smiled smugly at Shannon. "Just let me change!" She ran from the kitchen.

Alan clapped his hands together. "Well, well, we have quite the group together! A couple sexy cousins, Uncle Sam, and an eleven year old. Oh, gods of chaos, how will this night end?"

Shannon glared, first at me, then at Alan.

Ten minutes later, the five of us were seated on a tram headed for the Red-Light district. Alan and I sat together facing Shannon, Tiffany, and Claudia. Shannon tried to put some distance between herself and Claudia, but only succeeded in getting stuck beside a large Samoan in a kilt.

"I forgot to show you all my fake ID!" exclaimed Claudia.

"Shhh!" scolded Shannon.

Claudia didn't notice. "I got it from my sister, Janine. It's her school ID card," Claudia told us, digging in her back pocket.

"Isn't your sister in high school?" asked Alan. "She did a History Day project with my cousin Mena last fall."

"Cheese on a cracker, Alan! I'm not stupid. I didn't borrow her _high_ school ID. I borrowed her _university_ ID,"

Alan leaned back in his seat, pulled his purple fedora down over his eyes, and smirked. "Whatever you say, milady,"

"You know, your sister's birth date is on that," Tiffany said, peering over Shannon's shoulder at the ID.

Claudia threw her arms up in the air, hitting the Samoan with her firecracker ring. "But, it's her _university_ ID!"

We didn't know what to say, so no one said anything. We rode the rest of the way to the Red-Light district in silence. The tram let us off just a few feet from Hotel Deconstruction.

"Why don't we not go in as a group," Shannon suggested. "Greer, Alan, and I will go in together. Claudia and Tiffany, let a few people get in line behind us. Okay?"

Claudia shrugged. Tiffany glared at her sister, but grudgingly stood in line with another group between us. Hotel Deconstruction wasn't one of the hippest club in Amsterdam, so the line was rather short. When we reached the front of the line Shannon and I handed the IDs to the bouncer, an enormous Dutchman with a crew cut and three missing fingers.

He studied the IDs briefly, then nodded. "The Wray Sisters may go in," he said, gruffly.

"Actually, we're cousins," I replied, coolly.

Shannon and I sauntered passed him, confidently, hoping we really did look nineteen and twenty. We paused at the club entrance to wait for Alan. The bouncer was checking his ID.

"Your parents must really hate you, kid," the bouncer said, handing the ID back to Alan.

The three of us watched the bouncer wave in the next group without even looking at their IDs. Claudia stepped up and handed hers over. The bouncer glanced at it, then at Claudia, and back again.

"When's your birthday?" he asked.

"Oh, it was just last week, actually. My parents took me to Chez Maurice. My sister ordered in French! She's a genius. Honest,"

"Says here your birthday's in March,"

Claudia stared at him.

"Where are your glasses?" he asked.

"I don't wear glasses," Claudia replied. "My sister Janine wears glasses."

"Oh yeah? Maybe Janine would like her ID back," He thrust the ID at her. "Get lost, kid."

Claudia looked confused and wandered away. She turned around, cupped her hands around her mouth, and yelled, "Don't worry, guys! I'll find another way in!"

Alan, Shannon, and I looked the other way.

Tiffany held Stacey's ID out to the bouncer. He shook his head and unhooked the velvet rope. "Not necessary," he said. "Have fun, kitten."

"Un-friggin-believable," I muttered.

Tiffany strutted passed, the smuggest possible smile spread across her face. After picking Shannon's jaw up off the ground, I linked arms with her and Alan. "Ready, Pennyweather?" I asked. "Fontaine?"

"Right-o, cheerio, and a gumdrop, Harlow, ma'dear,"

"Most excellent," I replied.

Arms linked, we walked through the glass doors.


	16. Mary Anne

_Dear Shillaber Twins, _

You were probably unaware that my friends and I are vacationing in Amsterdam. Also, you're probably surprised to receive a postcard from me since I've not had anything to do with you since seventh grade. I want you to know that I am sensitive to your disappointment. 

I am writing to ask a favor. I'm worried Logan has been unfaithful. Would you mind checking up on him? Maybe ride your bikes passed his house a few times a day. If you see him downtown, perhaps, you could follow him. It shouldn't be much of an inconvenience since there are two of you. 

My deepest gratitude, 

Mary Anne Spier 

Everyone thinks Logan and I are the perfect couple. That's just not true. We have problems just like all couples. Most people don't understand how difficult it is to maintain a serious relationship in eighth grade. It's not easy to keep the romance alive. 

Maybe I sound cynical about the state of our relationship. Trust me, it's with good reason. Since arriving in Amsterdam, I've come to suspect that Logan has been unfaithful. In spite of our constant problems, I thought our relationship to be much stronger than that. But no, as soon as I left town Logan started fooling around. I had spent most of the trip in tears. 

How did I learn about these alleged indiscretions? Easy. I'd been telephoning two to three times a day. 

Stacey and I went halvsies on a phone card, so I could call Logan and Stacey could call this guy she met at a gas station in Stamford. The international calling rate was surprisingly reasonable. I wanted to get my ten dollars worth. I knew that card was my connection to Logan and in a sense, my heart. I missed him as soon as we drove away from Stoneybrook. Sleeping in his t-shirt only made me yearn for him more. 

Sunday morning, I woke with a painful ache in my chest. My body, mind, and soul were telling me I needed Logan. It was eleven a.m. in Stoneybrook, so I tiptoed downstairs and into the kitchen. I dialed his number, my heart beating faster with each touch of a button. 

Mr. Bruno answered. 

"Hello, Mr. Bruno," I greeted him. "This is Mary Anne! Calling from Amsterdam! Is Logan home?" Where else would he be? I pictured him sitting on his bed, forlorn, marking off the days to my return on his G.I. Joe calendar. 

"Sorry, Mary Anne," said Mr. Bruno. Except, it sounded like _Saw-ree Mahree Ayun_. His accent's almost as dreamy as Logan's! "Logan just skedaddled outta here." 

Shocked, I wailed. "But, Mr. Bruno! Wherever did he go?" 

"On a picnic with Shawn Riverson," 

"Shawn_a_ Riverson?" I repeated, heart sinking in my chest, a cold sweat breaking out on my brow. 

"I reckon. Look, Mary Anne, I gotta hang up. I'm learnin' Kerry and Hunter to shoot beer bottles off the back fence," 

As I burst into uncontrollable tears, I threw myself onto the kitchen floor, sobbing my broken, aching heart out. How could Logan betray me? And, with Shawna Riverson! I thought our love could defy the odds of lasting beyond the eighth grade! 

Day after day, I telephoned. It became an obsession. I spoke to Mr. Bruno, Mrs. Bruno, Kerry, Hunter, and even their next-door neighbor, Old Man Finkelstein. Each time it was the same story - Logan was out on the town with some hot number. Picnicking with Shawna Riverson. Canoeing with Janine Kishi. A romantic carriage ride through Olde Towne Stoneybrook with Ashley Wyeth. He even took Tess Swinhart to shoot rats down at the quarry! Logan always said that was family only! 

The strangest part of the whole mixed-up mess is that the Brunos didn't even _try_ to make excuses for him. They were actually _excited_ about "all the ladies he's a-courtin'." 

Wednesday night, after many tearful days and nights, I reached a conclusion about the recent peril in my and Logan's once passion-filled relationship - he was dissatisfied with its physical aspects. 

Everyone assumes I'm such a prude. That's just not true. Yes, Logan and I had not yet progressed passed three-second open-mouth kissing. But, that wasn't my choice. It was Logan's. The truth is, I have long been ready for some hot and heavy action. Ever since my special visitor (finally!) arrived last November my hormones had been raging like crazy. Sometimes all I want to do is tear off Logan's shirt and douse his body in honey like a sticky sweet after-school snack. 

Logan will have none of such behavior. He tells me, "Don't spoil the fruit while it's still on the tree." I don't always understand Logan's Southern wisdom, but I do respect his desire to preserve my innocence. However, that never stops me from trying to unzip his pants with my teeth. 

So far during our vacation what time I hadn't spent crying or sightseeing I spent thinking of ways to improve our relationship. I had to win back Logan's love and devotion! Finally, it hit me. Why was Logan so against entering into a physical relationship with _me_? It was devastating to think that Logan might be experimenting with those other girls. Why wasn't I good enough for him? That's when I had my epiphany - it had nothing to do with _me_! The excuse of preserving my innocence was just that, an excuse. The real reason? Logan was experiencing performance anxiety. He wanted to pleasure me in such a way that my screams of ecstasy would shatter windows. The pressure overwhelmed him. He just couldn't keep _it_ up. His love for me was that powerful. 

And, possibly, he was embarrassed about the girth of his manhood. 

That, I had actually suspected all along. Last February, not long after the Cream Cheese Incident (trust me, you don't want to know!) I stayed up late to watch the Hayley Mills-Dean Jones classic _That Darn Cat!_ During a commercial break, I flipped over to the scrambled porn channel. That's when I saw it - an ad for Man Grow. Instantly, I knew that's what Logan needed. I ran to the kitchen, retrieved Sharon's wallet from the blender, and dialed the toll free number. Sharon's always leaving her credit card statements in the toaster oven, so I knew she'd never notice an extra $14.99 purchase. Unfortunately, the Man Grow arrived on a Saturday afternoon while I was babysitting Nina Marshall. Dad intercepted the package and thought Sharon ordered it for him! There was a huge blowout. They didn't speak for three days! It was so disappointing. I'd ordered the Man Grow in the apricot-scented spray and everything. 

Since then, I had thought of no other way to help Logan. That is, not until Wednesday night. While riding the tram with Anna, Mallory, and Gerhild, I pondered my predicament. How could Logan regain confidence in his manhood and stamina? There were a couple ideas floating around in my head, but they required immediate action. I didn't want to miss Cam Geary's movie! Of course, I had seen _Timmy Elfman: Teen Dentist_ five times when it premiered in the U.S. seven months earlier. But, never in Dutch! My favorite magazine _#1 Fan_ never even mentioned that Cam knew a second language! I was dibbly impressed. 

However, my relationship with Logan took precedence over Cam's linguistic skills. Logan needed me. So did his pride. And his love carrot. 

"So, Gerhild," I said, casually, "do you visit the Red-Light district often?" 

Gerhild looked surprised. "No. Mostly I watch pirate movies," 

"How hard would it be to get into one of those...um...specialty shops?" 

"I do not understand," 

"Oh, well, you know...one of those _adult_ stores," 

"Mary Anne wants to go to a sex store!" Anna shrieked. 

My face turned twelve shades of red while Anna doubled over with laughter. How humiliating! Poor Mallory paled whiter than a sheet. 

I coughed, nervously tracing a puff-painted kitten with a finger. "I want to see everything Amsterdam has to offer, that's all," I whispered, as a single tear rolled down my left cheek. What a burden to possess such a sensitive soul. 

Touched by the tenderness of my heart, Gerhild took pity on me. "There is a store where sometimes my brother Georg works. Fraulein Vankerbergen will let us come in. We will switch trams at the next stop," 

The Red-Light district was packed. We pushed through the crowd, holding hands. It was rather frightening, yet still, I felt a rush of excitement course through my veins. This was a _real_ adventure! Maybe even more so than that time Claudia and Dawn were stranded on a desert island. Mallory whimpered as we passed some Rastafarians smoking and dancing on a street corner. (Maybe they knew Jessi!) Across the street, a couple scantily clad women hung out a third story window, flashing their breasts and calling down to passersby. 

"This place is great!" Anna exclaimed. 

Anna and I waved to the ladies, although I know my face was quite flushed. Hormones or no hormones, I'm still shy! 

Gerhild lead us into a small store with a torn awning. It was crammed between a coffee shop (filled with more Rastafarians. They were everywhere! I didn't see Jessi though) and a building painted like a rainbow. Inside the store, Gerhild greeted the burly man behind the register. 

"_Guten tag_, Fraulein Vankerbergen," she said. 

I did a double take. That was no man! It was a woman! She was like no woman I had ever encountered in Connecticut or even on my many trips to New York and Los Angeles. I studied her carefully, committing every detail to memory, so I could give Logan a full report when we reconciled. The woman was _at least_ six feet tall and wore a sleeveless jean shirt that showed off her bulging biceps. Her dirty blonde hair was spiked on top and long and thin in the back. There was a wad of chaw in her right cheek. 

"Got a staring problem, Little Lady?" growled the woman. 

I turned bright red. Tears sprang to my eyes, but I fought them back. Gathering my courage I approached the strange, beefy woman. 

"Pardon me, Fraulein..." 

"Vankerbergen," 

"Vankerbergen...where might I find the...the...um..." 

"Spit it out before you choke on it," 

"Penile enhancement creams?" 

Vankerbergen spat into the brass spittoon beside the register. "Boyfriend trouble?" she asked. 

I sniffled. Could I share Logan's lack of confidence in his ability to pleasure me with a complete stranger? Yes. Yes, I could. "He's insecure about the power of his manhood," I told her. 

"They all are, Little Lady. Male enhancement items are behind the feather boas and dog collars," Vankerbergen spat into the spittoon again. "Nice kitten t-shirt," 

I headed toward the back of the store where I saw the feather boas hanging. I passed Mallory on all fours, neighing and pawing at the linoleum while Anna whacked her with a leather riding crop. I walked behind the feather boas and gasped. An entire wall dedicated to male enhancement! Creams, sprays, pills, gadgets, books...I didn't know where to begin! But, I'm very organized. (As BSC secretary I've never once made a scheduling mistake). I mentally separated each enhancement cream by the language of its instructions (most were in Dutch or German). I narrowed my choices to four creams. It all came down to one detail - result time. Dad taught me not to trust instant gratification, so I discounted anything promising immediate results. On the other hand, I knew I couldn't wait six to eight weeks for a passionate reconciliation with Logan. Finally, I selected Whatta Man! which guaranteed visible results in two to three weeks. For good measure, I grabbed a penis pump off the shelf. 

"Hey, Mary Anne! Look what I found!" 

I turned and shrieked. I stood face-to-face with a giant inflatable doll. She wore a leopard-print bikini, silver braces, green-framed glasses, and what appeared to be a bright red clown wig. 

"Don't we look alike?" beamed Mallory. "I'm sending her to Ben!" 

I smiled politely. 

"What's that?" Mallory asked, pointing to the box tucked under my arm. 

"Um...it's a...bike pump...for Jeff," 

"Cool! I'll get one for the triplets! I already found an awesome back massager for Uncle Joe!" 

Flushed with embarrassment (and excitement) over my daring purchases I started toward the register. That's when I noticed a pair of twinkling blue eyes watching me from behind a rack of soft core porn videos. Could it be? I stepped closer. 

"Logan?" I gasped. 

All my anger, disappointment, and despair melted away. That's why Logan was never at home! He had spent all his hard-earned savings to fly to Amsterdam! To be with me! My heart soared. I dropped the Whatta Man! and the penis pump. Logan and I didn't need those things. We only needed each other. 

Those twinkling blue eyes traveled higher until their owner stood fully erect. Something was not quite right. I studied him intently. It was with a sinking sigh of devastation that I realized it was not Logan who stood before me. It was Cam Geary! 

"Cam?" I whispered. "Cam Geary?" 

The stranger shook his head. I noticed he wore a Girl Scouts of America t-shirt. "Sorry to spy on you, ma'am," he drawled. "My name's Stephen Montalbano. I'm visiting from Ponchatoula, Louisiana. I saw you talking to that homely girl over by the penis pumps. I must say, you sure are beautiful when you turn redder than a tomato in the summertime. I just had to come over and meet you." 

I felt my face grow hot. This was so embarrassing! I have a hard enough time talking to boys I know, like Alan Gray and Pete Black! I stared down at my loafers. "Thank you. I'm Mary Anne Spier," I mumbled. 

"Well, Mary Anne Spier, I was thinking that you and me could grab some Thai food around the corner," 

A date? With another boy? What would Logan think? "Oh, I have a boy - " I started to say. Then, I thought a second more. Logan didn't own me. He certainly wasn't worried about me and my feelings while he was out swing dancing with Emily Bernstein! I made my decision. "I love Thai food!" 

Stephen nodded. "Good, good. Afterward, we could stop by the youth hostel and pick up this girl scout uniform. We could find a quiet place, you could put on the uniform, and if you try to sell me some thin mints I promise to show you my tagalong," 

My hands flew to my mouth. A sexual proposition! I was _shocked_. And yet, intrigued. My innocence was not Logan's to protect. I could give it away anytime, any place. Plus, the possibility of role playing really stirred a passion inside me. I felt my entire body go hot - and not from embarrassment. 

"I can't tonight. How's tomorrow?" 

Logan didn't know what he was missing. 


	17. Tiffany

**Author's Note: **I want to thank everyone who has reviewed this story. A lot of time and effort goes into each chapter and there's no better reward than your wonderful reviews. I love writing _Amsterdam!_ and it doesn't look like it'll end anytime soon. I'd like to point out that I currently have ninety-two reviews. I would love to hit a hundred with this chapter. So, please, review! Special thanks to **emerald-doll** for her continued support, encouragement, and insistence that my random, off-the-wall ideas aren't nearly as strange (or morally bankrupt) as I suspect them to be.

Also, I've not yet decided whose chapter is next. I'd like to know who everyone is most anxious to hear from. Please let me know by review, e-mail, or AIM. Your input is important to me and most of my storylines are quite flexible.

Thank you!

* * *

_Dear Lennie and Hannie, _

Here's the post card I promissed. Thanx for wattering my plants. I rilly appreceate it. I won't forget those wooden shoes.

Cya later,

Tiffany K.

P.S. Amsterdamn is grate.

I know I am lucky to live in such a nice neighborhood with such nice neighbors. Mom said we couldn't trust Dad to remember to water my plants or walk and feed Astrid. I know this is true, which is why I asked Linny and Hannie Papadakis to look after my garden. Shannon also knows this is true, which is why David Michael Thomas had the job of walking and feeding Astrid. It's good to live in a neighborhood where you can trust people, even if you can't trust your own father.

I liked Amsterdam and I liked hanging out with Shannon and her friends. Except when they treated me like a baby, which didn't seem fair since I am the same age as Mallory and Jessi. I hadn't done anything stupid like ruining my hair, like Jessi. And, I was mature enough to have outgrown wanting to pretend to be a horse. Eleven is a very unfair age, especially with perfect Shannon for a sister.

That's why I wanted to go clubbing with them, to prove I'm just as grown up as they are. Maybe then I'd get a little respect. Maybe then they'd invite me to one of their nightly emergency baby-sitting meetings.

Besides, I didn't want to see some lame Cam Geary movie. Teenagers can't be dentists. Teenagers wouldn't _want_ to be dentists. What a dumb movie. Plus, I was kind of mad at Mary Anne for convincing me to go to dinner with her weird stepsister and her weird stepsister's psycho friends. I thought we were going to a real restaurant. Instead, we stood around an organic fruit stand eating out of wood crates. Then, some girl walked passed wearing a white leather skirt. Dawn's friends went berserk and jumped the girl, trying to pull the skirt off. The zipper was stuck, so there was just a bunch of screaming and thrashing. Eventually, a riot broke out and someone threw Mary Anne into a cart of red pears. A shopkeeper turned a hose on us, so we ran away. Since Dawn's friends don't believe in gasoline powered transportation we had to walk home. The only good thing about that was the sun dried our hair.

So, I was a little irked at Mary Anne and not thrilled about spending the rest of the evening with her.

Sometimes I wonder how Shannon managed to get a best friend as cool as Greer. I like Greer, even though she only said I could go to the club because she thought I wouldn't get in. Shannon could stand to be a little more like Greer. Shannon's so uptight.

I didn't have anything appropriate for clubbing. I considered wearing this silky snake skin-print pajama top, but I hadn't washed it since Mallory borrowed it a couple days before. Mallory's mom needs to buy her some deodorant. So, I raided Stacey's stuff. (No one had seen Stacey for days and earlier I saw Greer rifling through her suitcases, so I figured everything was fair game).

Stacey has an amazing wardrobe. Like, the best I've ever seen. I found a pair of tight designer jeans which I paired with a dark violet satin bustier. After snapping the hooks in place, I admired myself in the mirror. It almost looked like an actual top and I almost totally filled it out. (I already wear a bra, which freaked out Mallory and Jessi. They were like, "Is that a real bra?" and I was like, "No, it's a fake one, stupidheads"). Over the bustier, I put on a black blazer. I completed the outfit with a pair of glittery violet three-inch heels. That's the highest I've ever practiced walking in. I know I'm already pretty - tall and blonde with high cheekbones - but that outfit made me look ultra-sophisticated and glamorous.

Shannon told me the violet glitter eyeshadow and lipstick was a mistake. I was, like, "Shut up, look at your make up." She was so jealous. I made sure to ring my eyes with plenty of black eyeliner. Super slutty-looking girls with lots of eye make up always get into clubs. I saw it on t.v.

I was right because the bouncer waved me right in. He even winked! Shannon, Greer, and that totally-not-Amish boy didn't get waved in. Shannon about dropped dead right there. Served her right for being so high and mighty.

I tried not to gloat since Claudia didn't get into the club. In a way, I felt bad for her. In another way, I was relieved. Her outfit was really tacky. It was her own fault anyway. Not only does she not look _anything_ like her sister, her sister isn't even the legal age. Claudia and I both have trouble in school and share the unfair burden of perfect older sisters. But, gee wiz, at least I have common sense.

Hotel Deconstruction was _so cool_. Strobe lights flashing, techno music pounding, and a couple hundred people crammed onto the dance floor. It was actually smaller than I expected, but that didn't matter. It was a club and I was there.

First thing, Greer and I wanted to dance. Alan wanted to eat. Shannon complained of a headache. Not reaching any compromises standing in the doorway, we stepped aside to survey the scene.

"Omigawsh! Isn't that Cam Geary?" Greer shrieked.

"Where?" Shannon and I shouted.

"Out on the dance floor! In the khaki shorts!"

"Wow! That is Cam Geary!" Shannon agreed. She placed a hand to her forehead and swooned.

"Are you kidding?" demanded Alan. "Who cares about that cheesehead? His movies blow chunks."

"Cam is _not_ a cheesehead," snapped Greer. "Now, who's going to talk to him?'

"You want to _talk_ to him? He wore khaki shorts and Birkenstocks to a nightclub! He's flapping his arms like a chicken! You want to be seen with that?"

Shannon and Greer nudged each other. "Ooh," teased Shannon. "Someone's jealous." She giggled.

"Jealousy's an awfully strong emotion for someone you just met on the tram," I commented.

That wiped the smirks off their faces. Shannon's eyes shifted, nervously. Ha! I folded my arms and lifted my nose in the air, smiling smugly. I knew they'd been hiding _something_ in the attic. It was good to finally know what.

I broke the awkward (and totally deserved) silence. "I guess I'll just go talk to Cam," I told them.

"You don't even like Cam Geary," snorted Shannon.

I shrugged and walked away. I tried to strut like the models on t.v. but it's hard to swing hips you don't really have. Maybe I'll get some next year. I swung my shoulders instead. Stacey's heels were a bit more cumbersome than anticipated, but I managed to walk in a (mostly) straight line.

When I reached Cam I glanced back at Shannon, Greer, and Alan. Shannon and Greer had their arms folded with expressions of doubt spread across their faces. Shannon tapped her foot impatiently. Well, they didn't think I'd get into Hotel Deconstruction either.

I tapped Cam on the shoulder. "Are you Cam Geary?" I shouted over the music.

He gave me a lopsided grin. "You're the second pretty lady to ask me that tonight. I cannot tell a lie. I'm not Cam Geary. But, if tonight's any indication of the sexy sirens he attracts, then I wish I was,"

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. This was just some yokel with a lame accent. I would not admit defeat so easily.

"Wanna dance?" I asked him.

"My pleasure, ma'am,"

I turned and flashed Shannon and Greer a smile and the thumbs up sign. Let them think I was dancing with Cam Geary. Shannon and Greer screamed. They think I'm immature?

"I'm Stacey McGill," I told him. It's important to remember who you're supposed to be. I guess Claudia never saw that episode of _Just the Ten of Us_.

"Stephen Montalbano," he said, hopping on one foot and flapping his arms. He turned and shook his butt at me.

What a freak. I needed to lose this moron fast. I checked for a quick escape. Shannon and Greer were dancing together while Alan breakdanced beside them. Or, he tried to breakdance. His fedora kept falling off.

"Are you staying at the youth hostel?" Stephen asked.

"Nope,"

"Were you ever a girl scout?"

"Nope,"

Stephen said something else, but the techno drowned him out. Whatever he said, it included a lot of gesturing and possibly the word "cookies". When he was done, he smiled, expectantly. I smiled politely and walked away. Yep. I just walked away. Later, I'd tell everyone how I dissed Cam Geary at a nightclub.

I must have drank too much water from the hose at the fruit stand because I desperately needed a bathroom. I pushed through the crowd until I found one tucked away in a dark corner. A group of girls were just staggering out, laughing hysterically. Surprisingly, there wasn't a line. I strolled right in.

The first thing I heard upon entering the bathroom was a soft whimpering. The first thing I saw was Claudia Kishi hanging out the window. Or, would that be _in_ the window?

"Claudia?"

She raised her head and sniffled. I gasped. Someone had drawn all over her face with orange lipstick. Whoever did it must have been French because _chienne_ was scrawled across Claudia's forehead. Now, I may have repeated first year french, barely squeaking by with a "D" on the second try, but even I recognized _chienne_ as the feminine spelling of "dog". I also recognized the word's alternative meaning.

"Who did this to you?" I asked.

"I don't know!" Claudia wailed. "I've been stuck here for half an hour! The battery pack Janine installed in my shorts won't fit through the window!"

"Why don't you just take them off?"

Claudia stared blankly at me. "Oh. Well. I suppose that's an idea,"

"Can you slide back out to take them off?"

"No. The guys I paid to hoist me up already left,"

I sighed. "Maybe if I pull hard...hold out your arms,"

I grabbed Claudia's wrists and pulled. And pulled. And pulled. I put one foot against the wall for leverage and pulled some more.

"Suck it in, Claudia," I grunted.

"I don't have anything to suck in," she protested.

"Try anyway,"

Claudia took a deep breath. I felt her hips budge. I mustered my remaining strength for one last tug. I breathed deeply and pulled with all my might. Unfortunately, my heels slipped on the tile and slid out beneath me. I didn't let go of Claudia though. As my legs flew into painful splits, I heard Claudia's panicked screams.

Then, she landed on me.

"Tiffany, you've saved me!" she shrieked.

I groaned.

Claudia jumped to her feet. "I'm going to brush myself off, get out there, and show all of Amsterdam that you can't keep the U.S. down! Various girls may have stolen my pinwheel, ripped the tinsel from my hair, and groped my breasts inappropriately, but do I care? No! I won't even wash this hideous orange lipstick off my face. Claudia Kishi can take a joke,"

And, with that, she straightened her shorts and marched out before I could mention that her right nipple was peeking out her bra.

I propped myself up on my elbows and groaned again. This night was not turning out as expected. Hopefully, Claudia learned a lesson about attempting to climb through windows with less than one foot of clearance. Probably not. This was, after all, Claudia.

I struggled to my feet, brushed off my jeans, and shook out the blazer. _Finally_, I made it into the stall. Talk about well-deserved relief. As I was buttoning my jeans and giving the blazer one last shake, I heard the bathroom door open. Quickly, the bathroom filled with laughter and a loud voice speaking very fast in a foreign language. The voice went into the stall next to mine. Another girl stood outside the stalls. I peered over the top of the stall door and gasped. I could hardly believe my eyes. I flung open the stall door and stumbled out, tripping over my heels.

"Stacey!" I cried.

Stacey whirled around, shock flooding her face. It's amazing I even recognized her. She didn't look like the same Stacey from a few days ago. She was dressed in a hot pink tube dress and matching thigh high boots. Her eyes were ringed with dark pink eyeliner, giving the illusion that she'd recently been crying. Maybe she had been. Behind all that make up, her eyes appeared worried and sad. Yes, I was definitely facing a new Stacey, one completely different from the girl who left Stoneybrook.

We stared at one another. I didn't know what to say. Where had she been? How could she not realize how concerned some of us were? There was so much to ask, but we weren't friends. I barely even knew her. It didn't seem right for me to be the one to discover her.

"We thought you were dead," I blurted out. Hey, I'm only eleven. Eloquence is totally not my thing. "Or sold into white slavery." I learned all about white slavery from a rerun of _Scarecrow and Mrs. King_.

"There's no such thing as white slavery," scoffed Stacey.

"Gerhild says it happens all the time in Amsterdam,"

Stacey wrinkled her nose. "Gerhild?"

The stall door opened and out stepped Stacey's companion, a walking skeleton with masses of unruly curly dark hair.

"Oh, this is Daniela," Stacey said. "She's from Italy. She doesn't really speak English." Stacey raised her voice and gestured to me. "Daniela, this is Tiffany."

Daniela glanced from me to Stacey, then went to the sink to wash her hands. I noticed she watched us in the mirror.

"Stacey, where have you been?" I demanded.

Stacey averted her eyes. "Oh...I met some...people. I'm staying with them. Didn't Jessi tell you?"

"Jessi? No,"

"I came by the house yesterday to get a few things. I told Jessi not to worry about me. What did she do to her hair?"

"I can't believe you just disappeared like that! That's, like, so irresponsible, Stacey. No one knew - "

"Are you wearing my clothes?" she interrupted.

"Well, I thought you were dead,"

Before she could reply, Daniela grabbed Stacey's arm and began speaking earnestly in Italian.

"I have to go, Tiffany. My boyfriend's waiting for us,"

Oh, so this was about a boy.

"I'll come by in a few days," promised Stacey. "My boyfriend wants me around, that's all. You'll understand when you're older, sophisticated, and in love,"

I watched the Italian girl pull Stacey out the door. I thought about running after her, calling for Shannon and Greer. Instead, I washed my hands and reapplied my lip gloss. Maybe I just really didn't understand. Even all dressed up, I am only eleven.

I walked onto the dance floor just in time to see two bouncers dragging Stephen Montalbano off it. I ducked behind another boy so Stephen wouldn't see me. The boy turned around and smiled. He had a gorgeous smile, much cuter than the boys on television or in _#1 Fan_. Much, much cuter than Cam Geary.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," I replied.

"Want to dance?" he asked and without waiting for an answer pulled me further out on the dance floor.

"My name's Stacey," I told him, raising my voice over the music. "I'm eighteen and go to Boston College." I sounded totally convincing.

He chuckled. "I'm Tyson," he replied. "I go to Florida State. What's your major?"

"Botany," I decided that on the tram. I was sooo good at this. Claudia should have been there taking notes.

"I'm an anthropology major,"

I had no idea what that was, but I really liked his sparkling green eyes and the little ponytail he wore his hair in. Maybe I should have told him that.

"You're a really good dancer, Stacey,"

"Thanks. I watch a lot of _Soul Train_,"

Tyson and I danced until closing. I didn't see Stacey again. Maybe she left after our meeting in the bathroom. I did see her Italian friend though, standing at the edge of the dance floor with a tall, muscular blonde guy. She was gesturing wildly, as her mouth moved a mile a minute. I think I saw her pointing at me.

I may be only eleven. I may not do well in school. But even I can tell when something is terribly, terribly wrong.


	18. Stacey

**Author's Note:** I just want to thank everyone who reviewed my last chapter. I actually surpassed my goal of a hundred reviews! Thank you all so much. I want to give a special thanks to those faithful readers who review every single chapter. Your dedication does not go unnoticed! 

In the last chapter I asked who people would most like to hear from. The most popular choices were Stacey and Alan. Even though I didn't think we'd be hearing from her so soon this next chapter (by popular demand!) belongs to Stacey. Alan will get his own chapter eventually. The next chapter will begin a multichapter story arc in which we'll hear from some neglected BSC members.

Until then, enjoy the Stacey chapter! And, as this _is_ about Stacey I must warn everyone that it includes sexual situations relating to prostitution and involving minors.

_

* * *

__Dear Dad, _

I am experiencing so many new things in Amsterdam. You would never guess in a million years what I've been up to. Well...gotta run!

XOXO Stacey

Seeing Tiffany at Hotel Deconstruction really shook me up. I couldn't even look her in the eye. I was so ashamed. If she knew what I'd been doing only minutes earlier...I couldn't think about that. As far as I was concerned no one back in Stoneybrook would ever know.

I wasn't sure I'd even return to Stoneybrook.

The truth is, I had fallen deeply and madly in love with Stas. I felt for him what I had never felt for another boy. Not Sam Thomas, not Robert Brewster, not Ethan Carroll. Or Pete Black or Austin Bentley or Wes Ellenburg or Scott the lifeguard. Not anyone. At seventeen, Stas was more a man than a boy. And I loved him as a woman loves a man.

Stas was my white knight. He rescued me in my darkest hour. That day at The Forbidden Fruit when I begged for his assistance he didn't even hesitate. He whisked me through the curtain behind the cash register, unlocked the seven deadbolts on the steel door, and pulled me into a dimly lit, but warm, parlor. Several young girls, not much older or younger than me, were flopped on the couch and in the armchairs. That's when I learned Stas' secret - he was such a kind, selfless man that he volunteered his time as an in-house supervisor at a home for runaway girls. I knew then that I had found a prince among men.

In his modest bedroom, Stas listened intently to my predicament. He calmed my nerves, assuaged my fears, then took me shopping. Stas personally chose several sexy outfits for me, including a hot pink tube dress and matching boots. Afterward, we went for dinner at a fancy Russian place. We sat in a dark corner where no one could see us. By the time the check arrived, we'd already made it to third base. Back in Stas' bedroom, we made love throughout the night.

Stas was so gentle and attentive because I told him I was a virgin. Of course, I wasn't. My mom says that every boy takes pride in getting there first, which is why I've been deflowered seven times. Or, maybe it was eight. No, no, seven. Mrs. Newton came home early.

Even after three days, I still moaned at his slightest touch. Stas and I were soulmates. Our bodies fit together as one. I'd do anything for him. I told him so, which is how I ended up at Hotel Deconstruction in a hot pink tube dress.

Wednesday morning after giving Stas his after-breakfast blow job, he zipped up his pants and helped me to my feet. I noticed a single tear rolling down his cheek. An ache in my heart, I inquired as to what I had done to upset him so. Stas took me in his arms and poured out his troubles. He dreamed of opening a night club with Klaus van der Pol, owner of Hotel Deconstruction. At first, I was furious. Stas told me he was starting medical school in the fall. He even considered specializing in childhood diabetes. How dare he lie to me! Did our love mean nothing to him? Quickly, Stas explained that he was looking out for me, for _us_. Stas needed a way to support me, take care of me, and eventually _marry_ me.

Unfortunately, Klaus van der Pol refused to meet with Stas. Stas was optimistic, however, that Klaus would reconsider with a little incentive. Stas knew Klaus' weakness. All he had to do was arrange for Klaus to watch some live girl-on-girl action. Of course, I agreed. (Love makes you do crazy things!) I even had a little experience because Mary Anne once double dared me to french kiss Abby at one of our slumber parties.

So, that's how I ended up on a couch in Klaus van der Pol's office. On a couch and underneath Daniela. Even though I was doing it out of love, it was not my proudest moment. And, I wasn't thrilled about sharing that moment with Daniela. Daniela was this creepy Italian girl who lived on the third floor of the Forbidden Fruit and rarely left her room. She was sort of nuts and on the occasions that she did venture downstairs, she left several younger girls possibly scarred for life. Like Orchid, Daniela was almost seventeen, making her older than the other girls. Stas often mentioned that Daniela was getting too old and needed to leave.

I didn't much care for Daniela either. I particularly disliked the way her pelvic bones pressed into my stomach. I tried to think of Stas and how much our future depended on my performance. I just couldn't muster the excitement. Fortunately, Daniela's enthusiasm made up for my shortcomings. As soon as we finished, Klaus van der Pol came over to the couch and he and Daniela put on a show for me. It was like one of those videos Mr. Perkins keeps hidden in his sock drawer.

The evening left me feeling empty and worn. Meeting Tiffany Kilbourne in the bathroom didn't help. I felt her eyes judging me, guessing at the things I'd done. Sensing my peril, Daniela pulled me out of the bathroom. Of course, I couldn't explain the situation to her since the only English she knew, for some odd reason, was "price not negotiable". Somehow, I think she understood.

Daniela and I found Stas at the bar, where I begged him to take me home. Stas still had to meet with Klaus, so very reluctantly, he allowed me to leave on my own. (Stas and I were rarely apart, except when he counseled the runaways upstairs or visited sick children in the hospital). I rode the tram back to the Jordaan and walked the remaining blocks to the Forbidden Fruit. Since the store was closed I had to go to the back alley entrance. I rang the bell and pounded on the door.

When Orchid opened the door she appeared surprised to see me. Orchid had not yet warmed to my presence. She was always making rude remarks about me to Stas, but in Dutch so I couldn't understand them.

I gave Orchid the once over, as I did whenever we met. I still viewed her as competition, even though her and Stas' dislike for one another was quite obvious. Something about her just told me that I needed to be cautious. That night, as usual, Orchid looked very spinsterly in a gray tweed skirt and glasses hanging on a chain around her neck. It was almost as if she was _trying_ to look unattractive. Unfortunately, the skirt showed off two long and shapely legs that I'd never seen before and her heavy bosom strained the buttons of her pink blouse. Quickly, I pulled down my dress to better expose my own breasts.

Orchid stuck her head out the door. "What are you doing in the alley?" she demanded.

"Stas and I went out," I replied.

"Where is he? Where did you go?"

"That's none of your business," I snapped, taking a step forward.

Orchid blocked the doorway. "Did Stas take Daniela? She's not supposed to leave without permission. Neither are you. It's a rule,"

"You don't own me! Now, let me in. It's cold out here,"

Orchid stepped aside and I rushed in passed her. She followed, the enormous keyring jangling at her waist. On the keyring hanged every key to every room in the house. All the girls had to be locked in their rooms to prevent them from running away. A safety precaution to protect them from themselves, said Stas. He wore a similar keyring on his belt.

"What did Stas make you do?" Orchid demanded, as we walked into the parlor.

Honestly, she was worse than my mother! In the parlor, the two Danish girls were playing checkers and one of the Spanish girls was playing solitaire on the couch. Upstairs, there was a lot of commotion, typical for a late night at the Forbidden Fruit. For someone as militant as Orchid, she sure didn't mind the girls' boyfriends visiting at all hours of the night. Especially when the girls spent so much of the day with their private tutors. I felt the girls needed their rest.

"What did Stas make you do?" Orchid repeated.

"Nothing!"

"I don't believe that,"

"It's really none of your business,"

What _was_ her problem? Did she really have nothing better to do than follow me around, nagging? Stas assured me that Orchid was an expert nag. He said that all Belgians are stubborn and all Jews are bossy and Orchid had the misfortunate of being both. According to Stas, that explained why Orchid couldn't keep her mouth shut for two minutes. I didn't hesitate to inform Stas that I don't see people in terms of race, religion, or nationality. We're all just people. For some reason, Stas found that very funny.

"I'm taking a shower," I told Orchid. The downstairs bathroom was in between Stas' and Orchid's bedrooms. (Orchid's bedroom was right next to the staircase, so she could effectively monitor the upstairs comings and goings).

"Five minute rule," Orchid snapped. "I'll shut off the water."

Without Stas there I had no doubt she'd do just that. I jumped into the shower while the water was still ice cold and scrubbed and scrubbed at my skin, trying to get off all the night club grime and the scent of Daniela's cheap perfume. The water failed to wash me clean. After I toweled off I still felt dirty. A knot was forming in the pit of my stomach.

The door to Stas' bedroom was locked. Wrapped in my towel, I walked into the parlor. The Danish girls were still playing checkers. They looked up at me and giggled. Orchid was slouched in an armchair looking very sour.

"The door's locked," I informed her.

Wordlessly, Orchid rose and stalked into the hallway, unclipping the keyring from her waist. I stood behind her, dripping on the carpet as she unlocked the door. She held the door open for me, raising an eyebrow, and still looking quite disagreeable.

"You're a very stupid girl," she said when I stepped into the bedroom. Before I could reply, she pulled the door shut. I heard the key turn in the lock.

I slipped into a pair of lacy magenta panties and snuggled under the blankets on Stas' bed. I tried to wipe my mind of the unhappy, nagging thoughts that lingered there, somehow managing to churn my insides. The knot was growing larger. It was almost as if my body were telling me something was wrong. I wondered how much longer Stas would be. I hoped not too long, as I worried about other girls trying to steal him away. I also hoped, though, that he wouldn't want to make love when he returned. We'd already made love five times that day. I wasn't feeling up to a sixth time. (We wouldn't have to make love so often if not for Stas' problem with premature ejaculation. It was something we were working through together as a couple).

I dozed off, but was awakened by shouting in the hallway. I rolled over and checked the clock. It was nearly four in the morning. I felt beside me. Stas wasn't there. That's when I realized he was one of the people out in the hall.

Of course, Orchid was the person doing the actual shouting. As my eyes adjusted to the dark and I shook off the remaining effects of a shallow sleep, I realized that Orchid was shouting in _English_. That was odd. Although she spoke perfect English, Orchid usually chose to speak (and often yell) in Dutch and German. Why would she choose English now?

"If you can't obey the rules," Orchid was shouting, "I'll have to call Herr Dietrich. He would be interested to know that you are still adopting pets. These girls are not here for you. You spoil them, use them up, then toss them away, and they are no good to me."

"Always you threaten to phone Herr Dietrich!"

"Maybe I wouldn't have to if you'd stop acting like a selfish child!"

Herr Dietrich was the proprietor of The Forbidden Fruit, The Gentleman's Delight, and several other businesses. I hadn't met him, but Orchid and Stas spoke of him often (mostly in their threats to one another). Herr Dietrich lived outside Amsterdam, but spent most of his time traveling through Europe and Asia in search of runaways. I knew he must be a very kind and caring man.

"I do my job," Stas protested. "I find girls. You turn them into whores."

"_You_ turn them into whores!" Orchid screeched, followed by a loud crash, like something hitting against the wall. Was Orchid _throwing_ things? How childish of her. I was too confused to come to Stas' defense. Who were these girls they spoke of? Nothing made sense.

"Everything is my fault always! Tell me then, what do I do?"

"You know what you need to do," snapped Orchid. "Send her home or send her upstairs,"

Orchid's bedroom door slammed shut. Stas' key turned in the lock. I slipped back under the covers and buried myself far beneath them. I listened to Stas moving around the room. Finally, he climbed into bed beside me.

"Orchid is a crazy woman," he mumbled, knowing I was awake.

"What's she so mad about, Stas?" I asked, wondering if he'd tell the truth.

"Who knows? Always mad about something. Nag, nag, nag. Orchid should go home to parents. They search for her a long time. She should go back and leave me alone,"

"Sometimes it's too hard to go back,"

Stas didn't say anything, just wrapped his arms around my middle, kissed my neck, brushed his fingers along the curve of my breast. I felt his hardness pressing against my thigh. I hoped it was solely for me.

"How was your meeting?"

"Meeting? Oh. Fine. Fine,"

He fell asleep then. I stayed awake much longer. Thoughts swirled in my head. That knot kept growing in size. I cried myself to sleep. Stas didn't hear. Or, if he did, he kept it to himself.


	19. Abby 2

__

Hey there, Grandpa and Gram! 

Your fave granddaughter here. (Abigail, in case you're wondering!) Anna and I are having so much fun in Amsterdam. Yesterday, we went to Zaanse Schans, which is just outside Amsterdam. We saw a bunch of working windmills and visited some museums and a cheese factory. (I got in plenty of cheesy jokes, believe me!) Anna and I haven't made it to the Anne Frank House yet. Don't worry, we'll get there eventually. 

Today, Kristy Thomas and I were in a pedal boat race with a couple college guys. Let's just say things didn't go as planned...more on that later! 

Yours Til Niagara Falls, 

Abby 

Kristy and I had been training hard all week. We really wanted to win the race. We jogged every morning and twice in the afternoons. Of course, there was no proper gym equipment at Verbruggenhuis, so we improvised - crunches and push ups on the staircase, chin ups on the banister, weight sets fashioned out of flour sacks. It was - more or less - nonstop training. By Friday, we were ready. 

Kristy and I woke early that morning, jogged along the canal for an hour, then returned for a huge breakfast - blueberry muffins, oatmeal, cheese omelets, and fresh fruit. Kristy ate a plate of bacon, but I passed. After breakfast, Kristy called a team meeting. That's when we realized a crucial mistake in our planning: we didn't _have_ a team. 

"This is a disaster!" Kristy cried, throwing herself into her makeshift directors chair. Threw herself a little _too_ hard. The chair collapsed beneath her. 

Shannon and I stifled giggles from where we sat crosslegged on my bed. 

"Silence!" shouted Kristy, attempting to bang her plastic whisk while scrambling to her feet. 

I bit my lip and Shannon - brave, brave Shannon - commented, "It's not like you to be so disorganized, Kristy." 

Kristy's face turned bright red. "I've been busy conditioning! Besides, technically, I had a team assembled. Mostly. You, me, Abby, and Jessi. I just neglected to fill the fifth spot," 

"Where's Jessi then?" Shannon asked. 

Kristy threw up her arms. "Well, there's the sixty-four thousand dollar question! She promised to be here! Where is she? Who knows! Probably off with her rastadelorean friends!" 

"Rastafarian," I corrected. 

Kristy didn't even hear me. "In the Baby-Sitters Club," she told us, haughtily, "a promise means something. If it didn't, our clients couldn't trust us. I don't like what Amsterdam's don't to this club." 

"Dam Dutchies," I mumbled. Kristy glared at me. Apparently, the dam jokes were wearing thin. 

"No one's trustworthy anymore," said Kristy. "Running off, breaking promises, disappearing...where will it end? When a child gets hurt?" 

"Calm down, Kristy," ordered Shannon. 

"Yeah, seriously, Kristy. You aren't even making sense. We'll find two more people," 

Kristy's face was still red and a vein in her forehead throbbed menacingly. Shannon and I quietly slipped out of the attic. The race wasn't until three 'o' clock. We had plenty of time to round up a couple more teammates. 

A little after two, Kristy, Shannon, and I were seated on a tram headed for the city centre and the Keizergracht. Kristy's arms were folded defiantly across her chest as she glared at our new teammates. Greer wasn't the problem. Alan Gray was. Unfortunately for us, he was the best we could do on such short notice. 

"I'm going to kill Jessi," Kristy muttered. "Or, worse - kick her out of the club," 

Greer rolled her eyes. She didn't appear especially thrilled to be part of Team Thomas-Stevenson. (A dull team name, I admit, but at least I was able to veto Team Collie). If not for Shannon, I knew Greer wouldn't have agreed to come. 

"You know, Alan, this race is important," I said, deciding I better deliver a light lecture since Kristy had - astonishingly enough - resisted the, no doubt, overwhelming desire to do so. 

"I expect you'll be on your best behavior. Although, I'm not sure how you define 'best'. Try to follow our example. Just remember, not only is our pride at stake, there's a free meal riding on this!" 

Alan looked at me, blankly, then burst out laughing. "I can't believe you guys brought your gym clothes to Amsterdam!" 

Kristy and I glanced down at our clothes - dark blue sweatshorts with a yellow stripe down the sides and white t-shirts with the outline of a jaguar and "SMS" in yellow and dark blue block letters. Alan had already commented on our clothes three times. I really didn't understand what was so funny. 

"I wouldn't be so quick to judge, dog carrier boy," snapped Kristy. 

Alan covered his mouth and shook with silent laughter. Greer rolled her eyes again. I got the feeling there was trouble in paradise. 

We got off the tram about half a block from the Keizergracht mooring. Shannon broke the silence as we walked down the street. 

"Mom and Mrs. Carson are planning a trip to Holland tomorrow. Maria, Amanda, Mary Anne, and Mal are going. Anyone else interested?" 

Kristy grumbled a reply. 

"Sounds like fun," I said. 

Shannon sighed. "I'm trying to convince Mom to take us to Switzerland. I'd love to see Astrid's hometown. We can get there by train," 

"What are you talking about?" asked Kristy, perking up slightly at the mention of Shannon's dog. 

"Didn't you know? We bought Astrid from a breeder in Switzerland. Her mother lives on a farm outside Berne. That's the capital city. Bernese Mountain dogs are originally from there," 

"You mean, Shannon's grandmother is just a few hours from here?" asked Kristy. 

"That's right," 

"Gee, Shannon, I'm sorry to hear your grandma's a dog," I chuckled. 

Shannon laughed, but Kristy shot me a Look. "Shannon's grandmother is not a laughing matter," she snapped. 

"That's okay, Kristy. I don't mind," Shannon assured her. 

"I meant Shannon the dog," replied Kristy. 

"Maybe you should hop a train and go meet this dog," said Greer. 

Kristy stopped at the mooring and tilted her face upward, appearing a bit wistful. "I sure would like to shake Shannon's grandmother's paw," 

"I was joking," Greer replied, testily. 

"Look, there's Justin and Tyson," I said, loudly, pointing to two figures approaching the mooring. I glanced at my watch. Ten to three. Very punctual these boys. 

Kristy noticed, too. "Right on time!" she bellowed, cupping her hands around her mouth. "You'd make excellent baby-sitters," 

Greer smacked herself in the head. If Justin and Tyson thought Kristy's comment strange they didn't let on. 

"Hey Abby. Hey Kristy," they greeted. "Didn't chicken out?" 

"Never!" I cried. 

"The Baby-Sitters Club doesn't back down," said Kristy, proudly. 

Another eye roll from Greer. Amazing that they didn't fall out. Greer stepped in front of Kristy, smiling, and extended her hand to Justin. "Greer Carson," 

Justin shook her hand. "Justin. This is Tyson," 

Kristy shoved Greer out of the way and finished the introductions. Greer kept flipping her hair and flashing brilliant white and toothy smiles at Justin. Alan began to look panicked. 

"Still wandering around Amsterdam unchaperoned?" asked Justin. "Having a good time?" 

"Fab," replied Greer with another flip of her curly auburn hair. 

"We're having a great time," I agreed. 

"So are we!" said Tyson. 

Justin laughed. "Yeah, Tyson's having fun now that he's fallen in love," 

Most boys would have been embarrassed by such teasing, but Tyson just grinned. "Dude, you're jealous. Stacey's hot." He blushed slightly. "I mean, she's an amazing girl," 

"Did you say Stacey?" I asked. "Stacey McGill?" 

"Oh, I don't know her last name," replied Tyson. "But, she goes to Boston College," 

"It's not our Stacey then," I said. 

"Our friend Stacey's missing," Shannon explained. 

Justin's and Tyson's eyes widened with alarm. "Your friend is _missing_?" they exclaimed. 

Kristy shook her head. "No, no, no. She's not really missing. Someone saw her in a bathroom Wednesday night," 

Justin and Tyson appeared unconvinced. Frankly, I was becoming a bit worried, too. Stacey may be a sophisticated New Yorker, but five days was an awful long time. 

Tyson scratched his head. "Are you sure? We can go to the police and file a report. We can go right now," 

"Who's chickening out now?" challenged Kristy. She blew her whistle. "Let's go team! Move out!" She ran to the end of the mooring and whipped out her wallet. 

Justin and Tyson climbed into their pedal boat. Kristy claimed she could navigate better from the back of the boat, so that's where she sat with Alan and Shannon. (Shannon in the middle. We didn't need any distractions). Greer and I sat up front. Greer wouldn't stop smiling at Justin. It was getting rather annoying. That's why we didn't recruit Claudia or Stacey. (You know, if we knew where Stacey was). 

"To the Leidseplein?" Tyson called. 

I gave them a thumbs up. "Yep!" 

"Good luck!" Greer shouted to Justin with an enthusiastic wave. The tips of Justin's ears turned pink. Maybe he wasn't quite as cool as he let on. 

"Countdown!" Kristy yelled. "Five...four...three...two...one..." _Fweet! Fweet!_ She blew her whistle in Shannon's ear. 

Shannon clamped her hands over her ears. "Gosh, Kristy! Didn't I tell you not to bring that thing?" 

"You can't have a race without a whistle!" Kristy shouted. 

"I meant to Amsterdam!" 

"You guys!" I shrieked. "Pedal! Pedal!" Greer and I were the only ones paying attention to the race. No one else had even started pedaling! 

Kristy blew her whistle again. "Faster! Faster! We've got to close the space between us!" 

I've never pedaled so fast in my life. I know Greer hadn't either. When I glanced over at her, she had a strained look on her face, as if concentrating very hard. A sweat was breaking out on her forehead. Our legs were flying. Behind us, Kristy, Shannon, and Alan were working just as hard. The effort paid off. We quickly caught up to Justin and Tyson. 

"Nice day-glo swim trunks, _Justin_," Alan snarled as we passed. 

Shannon and I giggled. Justin's bright orange trunks were rather blinding. Greer must have really been in the zone because she didn't even react. 

"No giggling!" barked Kristy. "We're in the lead!" 

We were in the lead by only about two feet. It may have been five against two, but Justin and Tyson were strong. I bet they ran track back at Florida State or something. Their leg muscles were _huge_. It would be a close race. 

Twenty minutes later, we still had a slight lead. I didn't feel confident about a sure win though. I knew Kristy didn't either. Our team were being real troopers though. No complaints until - 

"I have a cramp," huffed Alan. 

"Shut up," replied Kristy. "No whiners on this team," 

"No, seriously, Kristy," Alan protested. "My leg is cramping," 

"Shake it off," Kristy told him, irritably. 

"Okay," Alan stood up and started shaking his right leg. The pedal boat tipped to the right. Then to the left. 

"Hey, don't rock the boat!" I yelled, only half-joking. This was costing time. Justin and Tyson were already pulling ahead. 

"Knock it off, Alan," Greer snapped. 

Alan continued to shake his leg. Then, he did the unthinkable. He started hopping on his left foot while shaking the right one. The pedal boat tipped dangerously to the right. No one was pedaling anymore. Even Justin and Tyson stopped. 

"Alan, stop showing off!" Kristy screeched, jumping to her feet, which only worsened the tipping problem. "You're making a fool of yourself!" 

Kristy and Alan were standing almost chest to chest in the small back seat, Shannon's head sandwiched between them. (And, in the most unfortunate of places, I must say). So, it was really no surprise when their weight and Alan's continued hopping sent the pedal boat tipping slightly back. Nor, was it any surprise when Alan lost his footing and careened backward, face suddenly ashen and panicked. It was, however, a bit of a surprise when he reached out for Kristy and - as far as anyone could tell - flipped her over Shannon's head. Alan and Kristy both landed in the canal with a giant splash. 

Shannon and Greer screamed. Justin and Tyson appeared horrified. Alan and Kristy popped up in the water - Alan laughing hysterically and Kristy looking murderous. Releasing a deafening scream, Kristy dunked Alan back under the water. In the pedal boat, Shannon, Greer, and I weren't much better off. We too were soaked. I tried to gage the other's reactions. A quick glance told me that Greer was absolutely furious, while Shannon's reaction fell somewhere between amusement and horror. So, I did the only thing I could do. 

I jumped in. 

Two more splashes followed mine. Justin and Tyson had also jumped in. By then, Kristy had overcome her initial rage and was splashing water in Tyson's face. We were all giggling and having a great time when a terrified shriek cut through the air. I turned just in time to see Alan pull Greer into the water. Inside the boat, Shannon had not moved from her seat, instead gripping the seat in front of her with white knuckles, fearing she was next. 

I have never seen anyone as angry as Greer when she resurfaced. Alan still had a giant, goofy grin on his face. That is, until Greer delivered a mighty sucker punch to his nose. Everyone gasped. No one, especially not Alan, was expecting that. 

Silently, Greer struggled back into our pedal boat. Shannon wouldn't even move from her seat to help pull her in. Greer stood unsteadily in her seat, staring out at us. Her tan shorts were plastered against her thighs and the pale lilac tank top she'd worn made it very clear to everyone that she hadn't bothered with a bra that afternoon. Greer's lower lip trembled, but she bit it back into place again. I realized then that it wasn't us she was staring at. Almost as if operating with the same brain, Justin, Kristy, Tyson, and I all turned in the water. The sidewalk along the canal was crowded with people, all staring and snapping pictures. 

Wordlessly, we swam back to our respective pedal boats and turned back toward the Keizergracht mooring. When we reached the mooring, the man running the pedal boat rentals pulled us in, grumbling. He knew exactly what had happened. The people standing around appeared puzzled though, but didn't ask for any explanation. Once we left the mooring, I decided it was time to break the silence. 

"So, anyone still interested in The Pancake Bakery?" 

Okay, so it wasn't the most thoughtful or considerate question. But, it was the most obvious. 

Appearing absolutely scandalized, Greer spat, "I don't want any cheap damn pancakes. _I'm_ going back to Verbruggenhuis." She turned on her heels and stalked off down the street without another word. 

"I better go too. Nice meeting you," Shannon told Justin and Tyson before sprinting after Greer. 

Alan appeared torn. Obviously, he wanted to eat. However, even goony Alan Gray knew that going out to eat pancakes instead of chasing after her would only make Greer angrier. He mumbled something inaudible and ran off. 

"Uh...maybe we should take a raincheck," suggested Tyson. "I'm meeting Stacey in a couple hours. I don't think she'd appreciate my smelling like the canal," Tyson sniffed his shirt. Kristy and I did the same. I wrinkled my nose. We did smell kind of funky. 

Justin and Tyson walked us to the nearest tram stop. None of us were able to ride the tram that afternoon though. As soon as we reached into our pockets, we discovered that the canal water had reduced our tram passes to mushy, ink smeared pulps. 

"Oh no!" cried Kristy, as we started the long walk home. "My whistle fell off in the canal!" 

Well, perhaps there was a silver lining after all. 


	20. Shannon 2

_Dear Lindsey, _

You may have noticed that this is a Switzerland postcard, not an Amsterdam one. What am I doing in Switzerland? Would you believe I sneaked away without my mother's knowledge? I didn't think you would. That's exactly what I've done though. Kristy Thomas, Claudia Kishi, Anna Stevenson, and I are on a sort of pilgrimage. The purpose of which I am way too embarrassed to admit.

Your friend,

Shannon

Before Amsterdam, I'd only every done one really bad thing in my life. That was the time I purposely flunked an exam to avoid taking a trip with my mother. (Sounds terrible, but it worked out for the best). Strangely enough, the second bad thing also involved my mother. Sort of.

Let me back up. Early Friday evening, when Greer and I had had an appropriate amount of time to recover from the events of the afternoon, Kristy knocked on the bedroom door. Greer, Mary Anne, and I were just lounging around. Personally, I was relieved that Greer had managed to calm down so quickly. She'd been in tears by the time we returned to Verbruggenhuis. She felt humiliated, especially when she thought of all those people who'd captured her on film. Greer may be a drama queen, but I completely understood her embarrassment on this occasion. So, I wasn't exactly thrilled to see Kristy walk through the door. I didn't need her stirring up the trouble of the afternoon.

"Hey guys," Kristy greeted. "I want to talk about something that happened this afternoon."

Greer moaned from where she lay on Mary Anne's bed. "Can we just never speak of that again?"

"No, not that," Kristy replied with a wave of her hand. "I'm talking about an expedition."

"You aren't seriously going to try to find that dog, are you?" said Greer.

Kristy paused a moment, appearing deep in thought. Finally, she said, "No, no. What I am proposing is a search and rescue operation for my whistle."

Silence fell over the room. Had Kristy completely lost her mind?''

"I'll buy you a new one, " I told her. No way was I spending even thirty seconds looking for that blasted whistle. Good riddance.

"But, this is my _lucky_ whistle," Kristy protested.

"Oh, well, that changes everything," said Greer.

Mary Anne giggled, then put on a serious face. "Sorry, Kristy. I'm going to Holland tomorrow,"

"Me too," said Greer.

"I'm not," I said. "But I'm not spending the day searching the bottom of a canal for a whistle either."

Kristy's shoulders drooped and she sulked out of the room without another word.

A half an hour later, I was in the foyer arguing with Tiffany, who had just come downstairs in Stacey's hideous glitter purple heels and a black minidress (no doubt also Stacey's). Tiffany wanted to go out in public like that! Presumably, for a "walk". I was trying to get to the bottom of the situation when Kristy came bounding down the stairs, all smiles, and broke up the argument.

"New plan, Shannon!" she cried. "I just recruited Claudia and Anna for a brand new expedition. We leave a dawn."

"Kristy, I told you, I'm not going on a search for a lost whistle,"

Kristy shook her head. "I'm talking about Switzerland. Greer really got me thinking. I may never get this opportunity again. This vacation won't be complete unless I meet Shannon's grandmother,"

"Grandma Kilbourne lives in New Haven," said Tiffany.

"Anna and I have it all worked out," said Kristy, totally ignoring Tiffany. "We'll leave right after your mom and Mrs. Carson. It'll only take eight or nine hours to reach Switzerland by train. We'll be gone less than twenty-four hours. You mom will never know!"

Tiffany snorted. "Are you kidding? Shannon would never do anything so deceitful. Didn't you know? Shannon's _perfect_," Tiffany stepped out the front door and slammed it behind her. Through the window, I watched her disappear into the night.

That was it. Tiffany made up my mind for me.

"I'm in," I told Kristy.

Five-thirty the next morning, I lay in bed listening to Mary Anne move around the darkened room. Out in the hallway, Mom, Mrs. Carson, and Mallory were whispering as the walked back and forth to the bathroom. I heard Greer on the stairs, running halfway down before turning around and running up again. Mary Anne finally slipped out of the room. I listened carefully as the group trooped down the stairs and quietly shut the front door behind them.

When I was confident no one was coming back for a forgotten sweater or purse, I climbed out of bed and dressed in the clothes I set out the night before. I kept the lights off so not to wake Dawn. (I didn't need a lecture from her so early in the morning). I met Anna in the bathroom, already brushing her teeth. I was happy Anna wanted to come along on our adventure. Even though we go to different schools, Anna and I are good friends. Since arriving in Amsterdam, we hadn't spent much time together.

Of course, we had invited Abby along, too. She declined, saying she was looking forward to the possibility of being Anna and herself if Mom and Mrs. Carson returned early. Abby was so excited that I didn't have the heart to point out that her own hair was about eight inches longer than Anna's.

Kristy, Anna, Claudia, and I met up in the foyer at precisely five forty-five (Kristy's orders), all still a bit sleepy. Kristy, Anna, and I were wearing jean shorts, sweatshirts over t-shirts, and sandals. Claudia, however, had taken the trip as an opportunity to wear another bizarre outfit. That morning she wore a blue and white checkered dress with an (obviously) homemade pinafore and a pair of hiking boots spray painted white. Well, that wasn't _too_ bad. What made the outfit bizarre was the accessories - mismatched earrings (a steaming cup of cocoa and a marshmallow in the two holes in her right ear and what appeared to be a goat in the left ear), a sign taped to her back reading: Burn Ore Bust! and decorated with a drawing of Kristy and a Bernese Mountain dog yodeling atop the Swiss Alps. Her hair was in french braids twisted into buns above her ears. Wait - I saved the best for last - across her shoulders, Claudia balanced a long broom handle with a tin pail dangling from each end.

"I'm the Swiss Miss!" Claudia exclaimed, proudly.

"Wow, Claud. You look fresh!" said Kristy.

Anna and I eyed the outfit and each other warily.

"Um...we better get a move on. We don't want to miss the train," I told them.

I slid the strap of my tote bag onto my shoulder and opened the front door. That's when I noticed Kristy had a garment bag draped over her arm. I gave her a brief quizzical look, but said nothing. After all, Anna was carrying her things in her violin case (I guess she read _From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler_ a few too many times) and Claudia had her own belongings stuffed in the tin pails.

"You know," Anna said to Claudia, as we stepped into the crisp morning air, "they're not going to let you on the train with that."

"Of course they will," Claudia assured her. "We're going into the Alps. They see people carrying these all the time."

Turns out Claudia was right. Sort of. The conductor allowed her on the train with her...contraption, but only after she dismantled it. Claudia was momentarily upset until Anna pointed out that she wouldn't have been able to sit down with that thing on her shoulders anyway.

We found seats at the back of the train. People kept turning to stare at Claudia, who was completely oblivious and stuffing a brownie in her mouth. I was becoming a bit worried about her. She had been going to Abraxas two and three times a day. The first trip satisfied Anna's curiosity, but Claudia seemed addicted. I wasn't even sure if Claudia was aware of exactly what was in those brownies and muffins. I didn't know what was more worrisome, that or the fact that they weren't even having much effect on her anymore. Could it be that she built up a resistance? Was that possible? I'd have to ask Charlie Thomas. He would know.

I checked my watch. "We should be coming into Germany at any minute," I told them.

"Germany? Oh no!" cried Claudia. "I didn't know we would be going into Germany!"

"Well, how did you think we'd get to Switzerland?" I asked her.

"I don't know! I don't know anything about geology!" Claudia replied. "If I'd known, I would have packed my _lederhose_!"

Anna and I both cocked an eyebrow.

"You have _lederhose_?" I asked.

"You know what _lederhose_ is?" asked Anna.

"Of course," Claudia said, exasperated. "It's the traditional dress of German-speaking countries. I did my research. Claudia Kishi _knows_ fashion."

"Does Claudia Kishi know what men wear _lederhose_, not women?" Anna asked.

"Huh?"

"Men wear _lederhosen_. Women wear _dirndls_," said Anna.

"Huh?"

Anna gave up. Clearly, Claudia wouldn't get it anytime this century. It was then that I noticed Kristy had been uncharacteristically quiet. She was leaning against the window, knees pulled close to her chest, writing in a small notebook. She chewed on the end of her pen, thoughtfully.

"What are you writing?" I inquired.

If I'm not mistaken, Kristy's cheeks went just a smidgen pink. "Oh, nothing," she said, pulling her knees tighter into her chest.

Hm. What could Kristy be writing? We hadn't done any baby-sitting, so it couldn't be about that. Perhaps, Kristy was planning a Western European Cultural Festival for when we returned to Stoneybrook. I groaned inwardly at the thought. I really didn't need to see Claudia in _lederhose_.

Once we reached Germany we stopped chatting and settled into our own routines. Claudia started drawing a caricature of a Bernese Mountain dog on a napkin ("a gift for Shannon's grandma's family," she said). Kristy kept writing and Anna removed her violin from its case. She straightened in her chair and began to play a slow, sad song. (apparently she wasn't a big fan of _Mixed-Up Files_ after all). Since we had several hours of travel left, I took out my copy of Theodore Dreiser's _Sister Carrie_, a book on my summer reading list.

You know the old saying "time flies when you're having fun"? Well, that's how I feel when I'm reading a good book. I had just reached the part where Drouet informs Carrie of Hurstwood's theft in Chicago when a booming voice sounded over the intercom. The voice made an announcement in German, the only word of which I understood being "Berne". I checked my watch. It was about the right time to be arriving. I didn't yet see the station. The conductor must have been giving us a five minute warning. To be sure, I got up and walked down a few rows, stopping beside an older woman in a business suit.

"Excuse me," I said. "Is the next stop Berne?"

She nodded. "_Ja_, _ja_. Berne,"

"Thank you," I said and walked back to my seat. "We'll arrive at the station soon," I told Kristy and Claudia, who were already packing up their things. Anna had fallen asleep against Claudia's shoulder, so I shook her awake.

"I have to...uh, be right back," said Kristy, draping the garment bag over her arm and disappearing to the very back of the train.

I looked at Anna, who shrugged. We took off our sweatshirts and folded them into my tote bag. I'd just taken out my hairbrush when Kristy reappeared causing me to promptly drop it.

Kristy had changed out of her t-shirt and jean shorts. Now she had on a short tan skirt and a white tank top under a minty blue shirt. The shirt was a light, airy material and only buttoned halfway. Kristy's hair had been freed of its usual ponytail and pushed back with a white headband. Lipgloss shined on her lips.

"Kristy," I gasped. "You look..._nice_,"

"What? You expect me to meet Shannon's grandmother looking like a slob?"

"Well, that Pizza Express t-shirt was kind of grubby," Anna agreed.

"Thanks," Kristy replied, sarcastically.

By then, the train had pulled into the station. People were already filing out the door. We picked up our belongings and joined the line. The conductor stood at the door, seeing everyone out. When I reached him, he tipped his hat and offered me a hand.

"_Auf Wiedersehen_," he said, as I hopped onto the platform.

Claudia was the last one off the train. When the conductor took her hand and said, "_Auf Wiedersehen_," she curtsied and said, "Ditto," She stepped onto the platform, started to move away, then turned around again. "By the way," she told him. "I _love_ your cheese."

Kristy and Anna snorted with laughter. I grabbed Claudia's arm, as she hitched her broom and pail thing back onto her shoulders, and hurried her away. (Unfortunately, in our rush, the broom handle hit a few innocent bystanders). Once outside the station, Kristy, Claudia, Anna, and I glanced around at the city of Berne. Tall buildings towered before us, cars were speeding passed, a bus nearly ran over a man riding a bicycle. Even though I knew better, in some way I was expecting a quaint village nestled amongst the Alps.

I exchanged glances with Kristy and Anna. At the same time, we gulped. Suddenly, our plan didn't seem so simple.


	21. Kristy 2

_Dear David Michael, _

_You will never guess who I met today! But, I'm not going to tell you who yet. I want to do it in person. I will say though that today was one of the most exciting days of my life. I only wish you could have been with me. Maybe when you're a little older we can go see her together. _

_See ya soon! _

_Kristy _

I don't know what Shannon, Anna, and Claudia found so humorous about my attire. Sure, normally I'd rather eat a slug than wear a skirt and usually prefer holiday sweaters to pastel-colored button-ups. However, this was a special occasion. A momentous occasion! I make exceptions for such events as weddings, funerals, and first time meetings with the matriarch of Shannon's family. Personally, I thought I looked pretty snappy.

Obviously, I was excited about meeting Shannon's grandmother. Unfortunately, in the thrill of the moment I'd neglected one very important detail.

"How are we supposed to find this dog?" asked Anna.

"Please don't refer to Shannon's grandmother as 'this dog'," I barked authoritatively. "It sounds condescending. The matriarch of Shannon's family will not be degraded in such a way."

"Matriarch?" said Shannon, rather warily.

"Isn't that a butterfly?" asked Claudia.

"Huh?" Shannon, Anna, and I replied in unison. We had no idea what she was going on about. Lately, Claudia had been making even less sense than usual.

"You know," said Anna. "The whole Shannon-the-dog, Shannon-the-human thing is getting pretty confusing. The next pet you get, could you please not name it after a real person? Shannon and Emily Junior are enough."

"I noticed you mentioned Shannon-the-dog before me," commented Shannon.

I felt my face redden in anger. I had completely lost control of this expedition! Where was the respect for the presidential office? Never before had I so greatly missed my whistle. Then, I remembered a special talent of mine. I put my fingers between my lips and blew.

"Holy crap!" shrieked Anna, clamping her hands over her ears. Maybe now she'd think twice before insulting the naming practices of the Thomas-Brewer clan.

"We need order," I told them. "We're in Switzerland without permission and have no idea how to find Shannon's grandmother. No offense to Shannon, but if it were me the address of Shannon's grandmother would be ingrained on my brain. Again, no offense to Shannon,"

"Thanks, Kristy," said Shannon, a bit of rise in her voice.

I nodded. Good that Shannon could take constructive criticism so well. The rest of the BSC (and Anna) could learn a thing or two from her. "All we know is that the family's name is Inhan and they live somewhere outside Berne. I propose we split into pairs and canvas the neighborhood. Sooner or later, we'll find someone who knows the Inhans. While we're at it, Claudia and I will look for a copy shop to print up flyers."

"Are you kidding?" exclaimed Anna.

I narrowed my eyes. Since Anna's not a member of the BSC I could forgive a certain degree of insubordination. However, she was starting to get a tad uppity, questioning my Great Idea and in front of my inferiors, no less!

"Look around, Kristy," Anna continued. "Do you realize how big this city is? We're never going to find these people!"

"Do you have a better idea?" I asked, coolly.

"Yes! Cut our losses, board the train, and hope Mrs. Kilbourne and Mrs. Carson don't beat us back to Amsterdam,"

"There are no quitters in the BSC!" I snapped. "Anyone else have any ideas since mine is apparently stale?"

"Why don't we look in a phone book?" suggested Claudia.

Shannon, Anna, and I exchanged a Look. A phone book! It was so obvious. Could the solution really be that simple?

"Are there phone books in Europe?" I asked.

Claudia shrugged (which looked sort of funny with the broom handle and pails resting across her shoulders).

We walked back into the train station. Before we could search for a phone book, Shannon and Anna insisted on a bathroom break. As soon as they returned, Claudia spotted a vending machine, which she promptly attacked. Even I had to grudgingly agree that I was a bit hungry. Anna and I each bought a bag of chips and Shannon a package of peanut butter crackers. Once Claudia fished out her four Mars bars, six Baby Ruths, and two bags of smoked almonds we _finally _started looking for a payphone. All the dawdling was quite irksome. Where were people's priorities? We had a dog to find!

"There's a phone!" exclaimed Anna, finally getting into the spirit of things.

"And a phone book!" said Shannon.

"Good idea, Claud. Nice eye, Anna," I praised them. It's important to let underlings know their contributions are of some value.

Shannon and I both grabbed the phone book and tugged it back and forth until reaching a silent truce. Shannon held the book while I flipped quickly through its pages, finally landing on the "I" section. Shannon scanned the listings with a finger.

"There're seven listings for Inhan," I announced. "How'll we know which one?"

"Here it is!" cried Shannon, jabbing her finger at a name. "Jann and Maria Inhan! I recognize their names! They sold Astrid to us!"

Claudia threw her arms into the air. "Yippee!"

"Augh! Claudia!" Anna shrieked. "You dropped one of your pails on my foot!"

Quickly, I jotted down Jann and Maria Inhan's address. "Let's go team! Move out!" I yelled with a wave of my hand. I led the way to the entrance, Shannon, Claudia (occasionally whacking passersby), and Anna (slightly limping) following close behind. Outside the station a cab was waiting at the curb. A middle aged man and woman were headed for it.

"Excuse me!" I shouted, shoving passed them. "This is a Baby-Sitters Club emergency!" I dove through the open door into the seat beside the cabbie.

If the man and woman had any objections they didn't voice them. Maybe because Claudia knocked the woman to the ground with her broom handle.

"We need to go to Geisterstrasse seven," I told the cabbie. "Fast as you can legally go. No! Faster than that!" This was one time I wasn't concerned with the reputation of the Baby-Sitters Club.

The cabbie stared at me, blankly. Then, he rattled off a bunch of words I didn't understand.

"He doesn't speak English!" cried Anna.

The cabbie nodded. " _Ja. _No English,"

"This is a disaster!" wailed Shannon, flipping through a German-English dictionary. Good thinking on her part to bring that along. If I hadn't been so upset I would have pointed that out.

"Why don't we just find a cabbie who speaks English?" asked Claudia.

"Shh, Claud," I hissed. "We're trying to think,"

Shannon leaned over the seat and spoke slowly to the cabbie. "_Ich bin _Shannon. _Ich bin Amerikanerin,_"

"What'd you say?" I asked.

"She just introduced herself!" Anna exclaimed, grabbing the dictionary out of Shannon's hands. "How is that going to help us?"

"That's the only German I learned for the trip! Other than asking directions to the U.S. Embassy!"

We were getting nowhere. As usual, it was up to me to take charge. I'm not the president of the Baby-Sitters Club for nothing, you know. I took out the Inhan's address and shoved it at the cabbie. "There," I said, sternly, pointing to the street number. The cabbie, who so far had watched us with slight fear in his eyes, nodded and pulled out into traffic.

During the drive through the (truly gorgeous) city we continued our attempts to communicate with the cabbie. Shannon tried her French on him (nothing), Anna spoke some Hebrew she learned for her Bat Mitzvah (nope), and Claudia recalled bits of Japanese Mimi taught her (which probably wasn't recognizable to even a native speaker). I even tried my hand at a little Spanish. Apparently, he didn't speak that either. Or else, he simply didn't know where to buy a good burrito.

Once we were out of the city we gave up. Not so much for lack of interest (everyone was having a chilly time!), but because we were so taken with the beauty of the countryside. Ever driven through the Alps? It's amazing. Right then and there, I decided to convince Watson to take the family (and the BSC!) on a Swiss ski vacation next Christmas. (He is a millionaire, after all).

"The hills are alive with the sound of music," trilled Claudia, off-key.

"That's Austria," corrected Anna.

"We're in Austria?" replied Claudia. "My _lederhose_!"

"No. _The Sound of Music_ is set in Austria. You're in the wrong country. Stop singing,"

For awhile, we had silence. Then, Claudia started again.

"Climb every mountain – "

"Still Austria,"

"But, they were climbing _to_ Switzerland," protested Claudia.

"They were climbing toward Germany. Salzburg borders Germany, not Switzerland. In real life, the von Trapps hopped a train to Italy. So, again, stop singing,"

Claudia leaned forward and whispered in my ear. "Kristy, Anna's killing my childhood,"

Just then, the cabbie turned onto a bumpy dirt driveway. It was then that I had my first look at the home of Shannon's grandmother. Usually, I'm not a very emotional person, but there was a definite tightening in my chest. All I could think was "this is where it all began".

I jumped out of the cab before it was even at a complete stop. Smoothing the light wrinkles from my skirt I studied the farmhouse. It was an old three-story with peeling white paint and faded green shutters. Three rocking chairs sat on the porch and a clothesline was strung up beside it with several dresses blowing slightly in the gentle summer breeze. It was idyllic. The perfect place for a dog to grow up.

Looking around, I had to fight back tears. It was almost time. Any moment, I would meet _her._

A woman appeared on the porch. She wore a salmon-colored housedress and a puzzled expression. A man in overalls came around the side of the house and joined the woman on the porch. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as my friends and I approached the house.

When we reached the porch steps I curtsied and greeted the Inhans. "_Guten tag, Herr und Frau Inhan,_"

I hoped to make a fresh impression. I took a deep breath and unfolded a piece of notebook paper that had been clutched in my hand the entire drive. I cleared my throat and began to read from the paper.

"Good afternoon. My name is Kristin Amanda Thomas. I'm thirteen years old and an eighth grader at Stoneybrook Middle School in Stoneybrook, Connecticut. I am also the founding president of The Baby-Sitters Club, but perhaps we'll talk more about that later. Besides babysitting, I enjoy softball, physical education class, and maple sugaring. But most importantly, I am the proud and lucky owner of a Bernese puppy named Shannon. She brought my family joy and hope during one of the darkest times in our lives. I am here today because I believe Shannon's grandmother lives on this farm. As of yesterday, it's been my life dream to meet her,"

"Uh, Kristy…" Shannon whispered.

"What?" I snapped. She was ruining a beautiful moment!

Shannon jerked her head toward the porch. Frowning, I lowered my paper. The Inhans were staring at me with gaping mouths and the same puzzled expression the cabbie wore only minutes earlier.

"Oh no!" I wailed. "They don't speak English either!"

"Why doesn't anyone in this country speak English?" Claudia demanded, crossly.

"We'll figure this out," promised Shannon, patting my shoulder. What a true friend! She took a step forward and addressed the Inhans. "My…name…is…Shannon…Kilbourne – " she spoke slowly.

"They're not _stupid_," said Anna. "They just don't understand English,"

Shannon flushed bright red. "Oh, right." She tried again. "Kilbourne. _Kilbourne._ From Connecticut. In _America_. You sold us Astrid of Grenville. Astrid? Uh, Bernese Mountain dog?"

The Inhans remained silent a few seconds more, then Frau Inhan nodded. "Bernese? _Ja_!" She cupped her hands around her mouth and bellowed, "Silke! Silke!"

"What the freak is a Silke?" asked Anna.

Before anyone could reply an enormous Bernese Mountain dog came bounding out of a nearby pasture. She sailed over the wooden fence in a single graceful leap. She was _breathtaking. _

"Shannon's grandmother," I gasped, my eyes welling with tears.

I bent down and enveloped Shannon's grandmother in my arms. I buried my face in her furry neck, so the others wouldn't see my tears. I inhaled her musty, doggy smell. It was Heaven.

"You know, Kristy, I'm pretty sure Astrid's mom was named Helene," said Shannon.

"Silke is obviously a nickname," I replied, waving her away. "Don't ruin this lovely moment." I stood up, still scratching Silke behind the ears. "The camera, Claudia. We must record this day for posterity."

The Inhans looked on, still with those strange expressions on their faces (was it a Swiss thing?), while Claudia snapped photo after photo of Silke and me. Shannon posed for a few, too, as did Claudia. Anna refused, so I kicked her in the shin and dragged her into the frame. Herr Inhan was kind enough to take a few group shots. Afterward, Silke and I played together in the yard while Frau Inhan served the others apple strudel on the porch. Dirty and sweaty, I finally had to admit that the wonderful day was at its end. Claudia polished off her fifth and final strudel and I said a tearful goodbye to Silke. I promised that one day we would meet again.

Herr Inhan drove us back to the city. (In a Ford Escort! In Switzerland!) Silke chased the car down the driveway, barking a sorrowful farewell. Hanging out the window, I waved to Silke until we rounded a bend in the road. I could no longer see her, but knew her face and joyful spirit would forever be imprinted on my heart.

We arrived at the train station tired, but buoyant inspirit. It had been an exhausting, but fantastic day. Luckily, the next train to Amsterdam was just boarding. We bought our tickets and sprinted to the platform. The conductor was just about to close the door when I dove threw it. He chuckled and pulled everyone else in. As the train pulled away from the station Anna spoke the words that turned my euphoria to panic –

"Where's Claudia?"


	22. Jessi 2

_Hiya Keisha, _

What happen', mon? I have had a spiritual awakenin'. I have found the true city of brotherly love! Can't wait for you to see I, mon. I connected with I roots now. Also, I find a new talent. Mosiah say it always in I. Babylon just suppressed it.

Later, mon!

Jessi

I was having a hard time adjusting to Jamaican slang. It wasn't easy omitting "me", "us", and "we" from my vocabulary. But, I wanted to belong, to prove to Mosiah and his friends that I was just as much a Rastafarian as any of them.

Mosiah and I had yet to make a luv connection. I really liked him. He seemed to really like me. But...we just weren't heading outside the friend zone. Actually, I was spending most of my time with Heather, which was odd. She wasn't really black (like me). She just sort of pretended to be. Mostly failing in that endeavor. She still talked like a girl from Iowa. At least I picked up the Rasta-speak pretty quickly. (Perhaps, I am as gifted with dialects as I am with dance and sign language).

I hadn't spent much time with my old friends. That didn't bother me though. They weren't supportive _at all_ of my newfound spirituality. In fact, they were hardly acknowledging my existence. Mallory spent all her time with that strange Gerhild Gegenhuber, Mary Anne and Tiffany had become very secretive, Kristy was obsessing over some dog, and who knows what everyone else was doing. I really wasn't keeping up with the daily goings on at Verbruggenhuis. At the moment, my life was much more important. Actually, I wasn't too thrilled about hanging around the house anyway. Every time Mrs. Kilbourne looked at me, she practically started hyperventilating. Maybe she didn't like black people. Maybe she didn't like Rastafarians. Whatever her problem, I didn't like it.

Late Sunday morning, I was walking back to Verbruggenhuis after meeting Heather for a light breakfast. I was looking totally chilly, mon, in a long tye-dye skirt (thanks Claud!) and a white Bob Marley t-shirt (thanks Teak!) The shirt was a bit big, so I tied it on my right side with a bright orange scrunchie. On my feet, I wore a pair of hemp sandals. I wrapped my dreads in a puce-colored silk scarf. (I took it from Stacey's suitcase. Greer, Tiffany, Mallory, and Alan were taking her stuff. I might as well benefit, too). I did a _battement tendu_ and a _rond de jambe_ on the street corner before crossing. Several people looked at me funny. Probably racists, I thought. I ignored them.

As I neared Verbruggenhuis, I thought I saw Tiffany Kilbourne making out with some guy up against a lamppost. That was crazy, I knew. Like me, Tiffany was only eleven. I'd only ever peck-kissed a boy. No way would Tiffany do more than that. Not giving the lip locked couple a second glance, I kept walking.

Verbruggenhuis was quiet when I walked in. I went to the kitchen to check the dry-erase board Mrs. Kilbourne set up to monitor our comings and goings. Everyone appeared to be out. That was strange. It was only a quarter after eleven. Almost everyone else had been out late the night before. Mallory slipped in from the Holland trip around midnight, Tiffany from wherever around two, and Anna from the super secret Swiss trip around three. Madame Noelle taught me that a good night's rest is essential for success and beauty. You wouldn't catch _me_ staying up all night, then galavanting around town all day.

Since I'd only come back for a quick shower, I didn't bother erasing "Out wit Heather, mon" from beside my name. As I was crossing the foyer, the door swung open. In walked Kristy, Abby, and Alan. Kristy grinned. There were dark circles under her eyes. My own eyes fell on her t-shirt. Peter Pan! Yep, a picture of Peter, Wendy, John, and Michael flying over London. The sting of Kristy being cast as Peter in the Stoneybrook Middle School production had not yet faded. I wanted that part. I _deserved_ that part. I regarded Kristy coolly.

"Nice shirt," I said.

"Oh, thanks. My cousin, Robin, bought it at Paris Disney over Easter," replied Kristy. "We're on our way to this Portuguese restaurant Abby and Alan found yesterday. We just came back to see if the Swiss Embassy called,"

"No, mon. No messages," I told her. "Aren't you tired?"

"Nope! The adrenaline's pumping after yesterday. It was the most -"

"Not the dog again," moaned Alan.

"Yeah, no more, please. Come on, let's go. It'll get crowded," said Abby, tugging on Kristy's arm.

They left and I headed up the stairs. I really needed a shower. Mosiah and Judah wouldn't stop smoking _ganja_ around me. Did I ever stink, mon. Shocking that Mrs. Kilbourne hadn't said anything, narrow-minded as she turned out to be. When I reached the top of the stairs my ears perked up. I heard a faint...creaking. Odd. Was someone home? What were they doing? The creaking sounded like it came from Shannon, Greer, and Mary Anne's room. (Stacey's room, too, if she'd been around to use it). I paused in front of the door, listening. More creaking and a loud moan. Was someone ill? As an experienced and professional baby-sitter, I knew I had to act. I flung open the bedroom door.

And screamed.

In my eleven years as a black baby-sitting ballerina, I'd never seen such a sight. My mouth gaped in horror. There on her bed was shy, sensitive Mary Anne Spier in nothing but a plaid skirt and knee socks, straddling the waist of some guy, who appeared to be _naked_. In response to my bloodcurdling scream, Mary Anne's head whipped around. She screamed, too. Only, her scream was muffled by the gray kitten mask she had over her face. The guy (most likely _not_ Logan Bruno) tried sitting up, but the silk scarves (probably Stacey's) binding him to the headboard prevented it. He wore a black kitten mask, so I couldn't see his face.

"I'm so sorry!" I shrieked, slamming the door.

I ran down the stairs and out of Verbruggenhuis. In fact, I ran all the way down the street, not stopping to do a _plie_ or anything. I ran and ran, trying to escape the horrible mental image of Mary Anne - sweet. sweet Mary Anne - doing _that_ with a strange boy. I was grateful Mama had talked to me about the Facts of Life at the start of the summer. Or else, I would have been as confused as Mallory was that time she walked in on Uncle Joe and the nurse doing things with a blood pressure cuff that ought not be done.

I ran until I reached _Rasta Fantasy_. That's the coffeeshop Heather's mom owns. They live above the shop. Even though minor's aren't allowed in coffeeshops, I walked through the front door. The back entrance was usually crowded with raucous Rastafarians trying to pee into the dumpsters across the alleyway. Heather's mom's lifemate, Egbert greeted me when I walked in.

"How's it, Jess? Heather wasn't expecting you so soon," he said, in a thickly accented voice. I liked Egbert. For a bald, white Dutchman he was pretty okay.

"Change of plans, mon," I replied. No way would I tell him what I'd just seen! "Go on upstairs. The gang's all there,"

Upstairs, I found Heather, Mosiah, Judah, and Teak crowded around the living room. Everyone greeted me with hugs, then I took a seat beside Mosiah on the couch. I didn't sit too close though. I might have collapsed into a giggling fit! As usual, Mosiah and Judah were smoking _ganja_. They'd never pressured me to take a hit or anything. Mosiah was so cool.

"Good ting Jessica came early," said Teak. "I and I can start now."

"All right!" said Heather, high fiving me. She did that a lot. It was weird.

Heather and Teak started setting up the equipment. Remember when I told Keisha about my new talent? Well, this was it. I was a musician! I never even knew it. Not until I met Mosiah and Heather. They brought it out in me. They even let me join their reggae band! Sure, the tambourine and cowbell may not seem as important as the bass guitar or drums, but the band would probably fall apart without me. Who doesn't love the tambourine?

Mosiah was the lead singer. He had a voice that could make the angels weep. Of course, I didn't really understand the stuff he sang about - something about colonialism, liberation, and Ethiopia. The words didn't matter. The beauty and power behind them were evident. I don't think Mosiah could have been any more perfect. (Well, maybe if he'd stop smoking so much). In addition to singing, Mosiah also played the bass. Teak played guitar, Judah the drums, and Heather the electric piano. I wish she'd had one of those distant keytairs. I suggested that, but she just looked at me funny.

We practiced for a couple hours. I shook the tambourine and cowbell with such flawless skill. I knew Mosiah was totally impressed. At one point, he turned to wink at me. Before then, I never understand why so many girls adore musicians. Suddenly, Stacey's love for U4ME and Mallory sleeping with that picture of Spider in her pants didn't seem so weird. I got it. Musicians are _hot_.

The last song we did was a duet. Heather left her electric piano and stood next to Mosiah. I noticed during the song that Heather kept touching his arm. As I shook my tambourine, my heart fell to my knees. Was Heather interested in Mosiah? Could she not see how I worshiped him with my eyes? Wasn't there a white Rastafarian boy for her somewhere? It was quite scandalous - a white girl and a black boy! That was simply unheard of in Stoneybrook.

For the first time, I cast a critical eye upon Heather. She didn't have my firm dancer body. One point for me. In fact, there was almost a roll of flab hanging over the band of her skirt. I know that not everyone can have the graceful figure of a black ballerina, but really, she should cover that up. I gave myself another point. Of course, Heather had a large chest. I didn't even have a small one. A point for Heather. I continued study ingHeather and comparing us until the duet ended. In the end, Heather was ahead by two points.

We stopped for lunch (fresh fruit and tea). Afterward, we sat around talking while Mosiah and Judah smoked some more. I knew I was uncharacteristically quiet. I just couldn't shake the feeling that there was something going on between Mosiah and Heather. I should have talked to Heather about it. We were pretty good friends, after all. But, the thing about me is when I have a problem with someone I don't tell them. I sulk and stop speaking to them. Sort of like I was doing with Mallory.

"How you lie dat, Jessica?" asked Mosiah.

"Huh?" I replied. I hadn't been listening.

"Judah tinks da band shud go on da road,"

"On the road? Where?" I asked, then as an afterthought added, "mon."

"Ethiopia! Da promised land!" cried Judah.

"Ethiopia?" I repeated. Ethiopia? That didn't sound appealing at all.

"Ya, mon! Ethiopia. _Zion_. Ah paradise. Da land all Rastas dream 'bout," said Mosiah.

"We can leave in a couple days. We can take the train down to Greece, then hop a boat into Egypt," explained Heather. "I'm sure we'd find a way down to Ethiopia eventually. We'd be gone several weeks, maybe a month. Or more. But, for sure, we'd be back before classes start in October. My mom doesn't like me to miss school."

"I start school in September," I reminded her, testily. I was still upset about the Mosiah thing. Plus, her plan was just dumb. I'd sing about Ethiopia, I'd talk about Ethiopia, but no way was I going there. Not even to play reggae music. They'd have to find someone else to shake the tambourine.

"Come on, Jessica," prodded Mosiah. "Ethiopia is ah paradise. All bredren and sistren belon' there. Please, say you'll come. Won' be da same wit'out you."

I felt myself starting to melt. How could I refuse Mosiah? This could be my last chance with him! An eleven year old black ballerina traveling across Europe and Africa with four teenagers sounded like a very bad idea. It would never work. But, I just couldn't control myself. I'd do anything Mosiah asked of me. _Anything_.

"Of course I'll go!"


	23. Claudia 2

_Dere Jineen, _

Eye em riting yeu frum a traen heded sumware, butt I kno nott wear. Iye im lost sum wear in Urup. I got sepurayted from Kirstee, Shanun, and Anuh in Suittzurlund. Sew pharr, I'ev vizeeted Ahstreea, Jirminee, Lucksimbergg, and Belljum. Eevenchooalli, I wil mayk it two thu Netterlunds. I fill lick that Kwantum Leep guy - sumdae I'll mack the leep home. (Orr, at leest get on the corekt trane). 

Ure Sistr, 

Cluadia 

S.P. Plees don't tel Mom and Ded. 

If you're ever in Switzerland, racing to catch a train, whatever you do, don't get distracted by the giant yellow Toblerone sign behind the train platform. I made that mistake. What did it get me? Lost, lost, lost. 

I didn't set out to get separated from the group. I wanted to catch the train to Amsterdam as much as anybody. Kristy lead the way through the Berne station. I brought up the rear. I wasn't that far behind Anna, but it was kind of hard to run with that broom handle bouncing against my shoulders. We made it onto the platform still together. We saw the train. Kristy waved her arms, calling out to the conductor. Then, I looked up and saw _it_. A vision in yellow and red. _Toblerone_. It was the biggest billboard I'd ever seen. I don't know German, but I understood two words on that sign: Toblerone and Berne. Like a flash of lightening, it all fell into place in my mind. The Matterhorn ride at Disneyland, the Matterhorn on the Toblerone package - Toblerone was a _Swiss_ chocolate. Not just any Swiss chocolate, but one made right there in Berne. 

I don't know what happened next. Somehow, I ended up at the Toblerone factory. It was so strange. In Amsterdam, a city where nearly everyone speaks English, I found it impossible to navigate the transportation system. But in Switzerland, a city where hardly anyone speaks English, I had no problem. It was like the chocolate called to me. Or perhaps, the ghost of Jean Tobler lead me there. 

I arrived at the factory just in time to join the last tour. That was the funnest tour I've ever been on! We got to see how the chocolate's made and everything! The tour guide yelled at me for trying to climb into a vat of melted chocolate (a childhood dream of mine almost realized). The scolding didn't faze me one bit. After all, I was in a chocolate paradise! When I grow up, if I'm not successful with my junk food art and sculptures of Jackie Rodowsky, I want to work at a chocolate factory. Maybe the Hershey factory in Pennsylvania or the Ghirardelli factory out in San Francisco. 

After the tour, I bought some chilly souvenirs at the gift shop - earrings shaped like miniature Toblerone bars, a set of Toblerone salt and pepper shakers for my parents, a book about the history of Toblerone for Janine (she likes books), ten dark chocolate bars, eight white chocolate bars, and get this! A 4.5kg bar of milk chocolate! I don't know how much 4.5kg is in normal measurements (why can't the Europeans measure things in liters like us?), but that bar of chocolate weighed more than Charlotte Johanssen's schnauzer. I figured I'd have it eaten by the time I returned to Amsterdam. Then, I'd wear the empty box as a hat! 

Once I made it back to the train station I thought it'd be smooth sailing from then on. Everything else had worked out so well. I was wrong. Suddenly, my chocolate-covered adventure turned as horrid and bitter as German chocolate. Here's my advice on foreign travel: when buying a train ticket don't just assume that because you point upward the ticket lady understands you need to go north. 

And so began my strange odyssey through Western Europe. I wrote that postcard to Janine late Sunday evening. By then I'd already been to many cities - Zurich, Innsbruck, Munich, Stuttgart, Strasbourg, some place called Luxembourg. Every time the train pulled into a new city, I got off, bought some chocolate, and boarded the next train that pulled into the station. It felt as if I were simply going around in circles. Maybe I was. Like I've said, I don't know anything about geothermology. 

In Antwerp (which I learned is in Belgium), I mailed Janine's postcard, then bought a box of Belgian chocolates. My pail was getting pretty loaded with chocolate bars. Plus, I had that huge Toblerone bar to lug around. I began to regret that purchase. Almost as much as I regretted ditching my broom handle in that bathroom in Munich. It just didn't match my new ensemble. I'd shed the Swiss Miss outfit in favor of a more functional one. I had on a white t-shirt with a picture of Jean Tobler (founder of Toblerone and my new hero) on it. Around my waist I wrapped a Swiss flag that I stole off someone's front lawn. Not exactly the dibblest Kishi original, but it worked. It's too bad my Toblerone hat wasn't ready for wearing. Although I did manage to cram my braids through a couple of the smaller boxes. 

"I could really go for some Belgian waffles right now," I commented to the young man standing next to me on the platform. 

He didn't say anything, just stared down at me rather disdainfully. Probably one of those rude Frenchmen, like the ones I met on the train from Strasbourg. Whoa, did they ever not appreciate my telling them how much I love a good french dip. 

The train pulled up then and I got on, even though I had no clue as to its destination. So far, all the conductors had left me alone, mostly just eyeing me suspiciously. I didn't mind. I got similar looks all over Stoneybrook. 

"Where's this train headed?" I asked the middle-aged woman seated across from me. I hadn't had much luck finding fellow travelers who spoke good English. Most everyone I encountered seemed to speak German. Unfortunately, the only German words I knew were _weinerschnitzel_ and _frankfurter_ and I suspected both meant the same thing. 

The woman cast a wary look upon me. "Mainz, Germany," she replied. 

An English speaker! Maybe my luck was finally turning around. 

"I'm trying to get to Amsterdam," I told her. 

"Trying?" she repeated. 

"Yes, it's been very difficult. I can't seem to get on the correct train. Do you know where Luxembourg is? I don't, but I went there this afternoon," I confided. I hoped she'd offer to help me out. Claudia Kishi is no stranger to relying on others. She asks for help when she needs it. Although, she usually waits until she's failing the class. 

I decided to tell the woman just that. When I did, she looked at me oddly. 

"Who's Claudia Kishi?" 

"I am," I replied. Wasn't it obvious? 

"Why are you talking about yourself in the third person?" she asked. 

The third person? What third person? "There's only two of us," I said. Third person? I'd heard that term before...oh. "I got a C-minus in English," I explained. 

The woman gave me another strange look, then stood up and moved to a different car. Maybe it's a German thing, but that just seemed really rude. I didn't have much time to dwell on it. All of a sudden, I started craving an Abraxas brownie. It was like an ache in my stomach. I actually felt a little shaky. I don't know why, but I can't get enough of those brownies. Apparently, Abraxas adds a special plant called cannonball or cannibal. No, cannabis. I decided to ask my parents to plant some in our front yard. I wished Mimi could have tried cannabis. We could have drank it in our special tea. 

The conductor's voice crackled over the P.A. system. Of course, I didn't understand a word. I did, however, feel the train pulling to a stop. I looked out the window and saw...nothing. Well, it was pretty dark out. Figuring the city was probably on the other side of the train, I stood up, checked the safety pins holding my Swiss Flag skirt together, picked up my pails, and exited the train. Funny, no one else got off. 

As the train pulled away I checked out my new surroundings. It was pitch black out, even with the single light flickering above the ticket booth. But, other than the ticket booth and platform there appeared to be nothing else in Mainz, Germany. 

"Excuse me," I said to the man at the ticket booth, "is this the entire city of Mainz?" 

He raised his eyebrows. "Mainz? That's another two hours by train," 

Oh my Lord! I did it again. Could I possibly get anymore lost? 

"When's the next train?" I asked, panic creeping into my voice. 

"Not until tomorrow night. We don't get many trains through here. But, there is a bus station a mile east of here. Buses run from six in the morning to eight at night," 

What choice did I have? I thanked the man and stepped onto the dirt road. I momentarily considered following the train tracks to Mainz. That just seemed silly. I glanced around. I'm not too good with directions, but I do know the sun rises in the west and sets in the east. Since the moon is the sun's opposite, it must rise in the east and set in the west. I stared up at the stars awhile, took a deep breath, and started down the dirt road, away from the moon. Janine's not the only person capable of figuring out complicated mathemalogical equestrians. 

Around daybreak, I realized I'd gotten myself even more lost. I honestly hadn't thought such a thing possible. The sun was rising in the west just as always, but I couldn't see a bus station anywhere. I had to face facts - I was stranded in what may or may not be Germany, on a country road covered in potholes with no signs of civilizations. _Well, Claudia Kishi, _ I thought to myself, _you can't decoupage yourself out of this one._

In the distance, I heard the low rumble of an engine. Shielding my eyes, I gazed toward the horizon. A truck appeared at the top of the hill. I made a decision right then and there. I was getting out of Germany. I was finding a way home. 

I stuck out my leg, lifted my skirt, and hoped for the best. 


	24. Dawn Chapter 24

_Hey Jill, _

I'm writing this postcard as a sort-of apology. I'd rather not do it in person, in case you're wearing that unicorn sweater and someone sees us together. Sorry, but that's the truth. I find that most people appreciate my honesty. I'm a real straight shooter, you know.

Remember that time, not long before I ditched you, when you said I was psychotically obsessed with the environment? And, I tackled you and tried to stuff that peanut butter log down your throat? And, Maggie's dad had to pull me off you? And, your mom called my dad and it turned into a big thing? Well, I wanted to let you know I'm willing to take some responsibility for that incident. I mean, you pretty much deserved it and everything, but in a way you were right. Sometimes I do take my environmental causes too far. Sometimes I do get a little "psychotic". And, no matter how often it all comes back to bite me in the a$$ I never learn my lesson. Until now.

Love and Sunshine,

Dawn

P.S. This doesn't mean we're friends again. Unless you've stopped wearing that unicorn sweater.

Suzanne, Johanna, Vlad, and I had been planning the Big Night for days. Everything was set. We'd considered every angle, every possible hitch. We were ready. Nothing could go wrong.

Finally, the day arrived for all of Amsterdam to recognize the deceit and destruction of the fast food industry.

I knew our meticulous planning would pay off. I grinned to myself as I dressed Monday evening. I was bursting with excitement. I, Dawn Read Schafer, was about to make history. I was going to single-handedly (well, almost) bring down the chain of murder that is McDonald's. I couldn't wait.

Suzanne instructed us to wear dark clothing. I'd chosen an outfit that was both functional and symbolic. I wore black stirrup leggings and black Reebok sneakers with a black and navy t-shirt. What's so special about that? Well, the front of the t-shirt, that's what. It had the face of a wolf and a profile of an American Indian. Above them were the words: _Born To Roam_. I bought it at Whiskey Pete's Hotel and Casino on the Nevada border. It spoke to me then and continued to speak to me that night at Verbruggenhuis. I'm a huge championer of the rights of wolves and American Indians. I think I'm like one-thirty-second Osage or something. That night, I could definitely feel some red man running through my veins.

I tied my hair back with a thick black ribbon and snapped my new navy blue canvas fanny pack around my waist. Then, I was on my way.

Even though it was nearly eight, it was still light out. I suspected that had something to do with the hole in the ozone layer. I made a mental note to bring that up to Suzanne. As I was leaving Verbruggenhuis, I noticed an old pickup truck sputtering down the street. Tons of black smoke billowed out the exhaust pipe. I was appalled and disgusted. The worst part was the truck bed was filled with fat, fluffy sheep. No doubt being lead to slaughter. I considered throwing myself in the path of the truck in protest of the cruel treatment of hoofed animals. Before I could act the truck pulled to a stop right in front of Verbruggenhuis. The two grizzled old men in the front seat stared at me blankly. I opened my mouth to give them a piece of my mind when a raven-tressed head popped up between the many fluffy sheep butts.

"Thanks for the ride, Johan, Fritz," yelled Claudia, hoisting a leg over the wood railing of the truck. She dropped a couple pails over the side along with the biggest chocolate bar I'd ever seen in my life. A plastic wrapped cavity, if you ask me. "See ya around, Sheepies," shouted Claudia, tumbling over the side of the truck.

Huh. I thought I hadn't seen her around for a couple days.

Resisting the urge to throw all her disgusting processed sugar in the canal (although that would be littering) and wanting to avoid having to actually speak to Claudia, I hurried off to catch the tram. We were gathering at Johanna's apartment, as usual. Mainly because her grandparents were old and didn't ask questions like Suzanne's parents did. That, and we needed to steal their car.

Of course, none of us had a license. Suzanne, Johanna, and I were too young and Vlad said something about expired works permits and possible extradition. I don't know what that had to do with driving a car, but whatever. Live and let live, I say. Besides, just because he didn't actually have a license didn't mean Vlad couldn't drivethe car. We neededthe car to successfully execute our plan. We couldn't carry all that - well, you'll see - on bicycles.

I reached Johanna's apartment around eight-thirty. We wouldn't put our plan into action until much later. While we waited for the cloak of darkness to descend upon Amsterdam we made a delicious vegetable lasagna. Nothing says social liberation like a good vegetarian meal.

At ten after eleven we slipped into the night. Johanna couldn't find her grandfather's keys, but Vlad told us not to worry. He hot-wired the car with ease. That's a very handy skill for a social activist. After winning two out of three rounds of Rock Paper Scissors, I sat in the front seat with Vlad. I was oddly attracted to him, even though he wasn't blonde or from California. He was just so mysterious and silent. There was something so dark and forbidden about Vlad. If only Abby would stop calling him Vlad the Impaler.

Sigh. The many burdens I bear. But, really, I digress.

We pulled into the alley behind the McDonald's. Johanna, Vlad, and I hunched down low in the car while Suzanne tiptoed around the alley. I held my breath and crossed my fingers. Then, I heard it. A single clap. The signal for us to follow. Quietly, we slipped out of the car, supplies tucked under our arms. Quick as an expert cat burglar, Vlad picked the lock. We kept our flashlights pointed low to the ground as we filed into the dark and empty McDonald's.

"The freezer's back this way," whispered Suzanne.

I pushed past her, so that I would lead the way.

"There it is," breathed Johanna, as the gigantic freezer came into view.

Still in the lead, I pressed down the door handle, pulling the door toward me. The freezer light clicked on, illuminating the carnage inside.

Suzanne sniffled. "Such a waste of such beauty,"

"Like soldiers on the battlefield. The frozen reminders of a war long lost. A war they never had a chance of winning," I said.

"Let's have a moment," said Johanna. The four of us stood very still, contemplating the lives lost in the unbalanced war man waged against the kind and gentle cow.

"Don't worry," Suzanne whispered, patting a stack of the frozen hamburger patties. "We will avenge your deaths. None of you will have died in vain. Your end was only the beginning. The people will know. They'll know."

We set to work. Vlad and Johanna held open the pillowcases while Suzanne and I filled them with the frozen patties. We worked quickly, filling all ten pillowcases. Leaving no patty behind we checked each corner of the freezer. On the way out, Johanna kicked over the soda dispenser with a single swift, graceful swing of her leg. Suzanne and I cheered. Imagine, the four of us bringing down a corporation like McDonald's. It really made me appreciate how truly amazing I really am.

We drove to the outskirts of Amsterdam and parked behind a church. We'd been there earlier that day. The graveyard behind the church was part of our plan. A very big part. We'd spent a lot of time there the last few days, surveying the area, checking for local busybodies, and finally, digging all the individual graves. It had been quite time consuming, but we managed to dig two hundred and ten tiny graves, each just big enough for a frozen hamburger patty. While Suzanne, Johanna, and I dug the holes, Vlad made tiny white crosses to mark each grave. It was all so beautiful and symbolic. In the morning, we would pass out flyers, inviting everyone to come pay respects to the lives stolen by the cold, calculating murderers at McDonald's. People would be so shocked and appalled they would never allow a grilled cow carcass to pass their lips again.

We placed a patty in each grave, carefully covering them with a generous mound of dirt. Vlad followed behind us, driving the crosses into the soft soil. Tears fell from Suzanne's eyes when the final cross went into the ground. Brushing the soil from our clothes, we formed a circle of love, friendship, and vegetarianism. Clasping hands, we prayed that the souls of the murdered cows be released from their frozen prison, so that they may finally discover eternal peace.

We drove back into the city in silence, contemplating what we'd done, imagining all the good it would do. When people saw that mass burial, they'd know. They'd care. I smiled at Vlad, a small, shy smile so that he might think me humble. I reached for my fanny pack to take out a tube of chapstick. But - oh no!

"My fanny pack!" I shrieked. "It's gone!"

"Did you leave it at the graveyard?" asked Johanna.

"I don't think so. I don't remember having it there," I replied. Actually, the last time I remembered feeling it hug my tanned, slenderhips was... "I think I left it at McDonald's,"

"Why did you take it off?" Suzanne asked, irritably.

I bristled. I did not approve of her sudden attitude. " I didn't," I snapped. "It must have slid off or something. Maybe the clasp broke. I don't know. We have to go back,"

"No way!" cried Johanna. "Everything's gone so perfectly. We can't risk getting caught now."

I turned in my seat, regarding them with a look of stoic grace. Why were they making this so difficult for me? "Well..." I started. "My wallet's in the fanny pack. In the wallet are my SMS and Vista I.D. cards. And, my video rental card for Mega Video,"

Suzanne slapped her palm to her forehead. What, had she never made a mistake before?

"Back to the Leidseplein, Vlad," groaned Suzanne.

I bit my tongue, so not to say something I might regret later. I was being very diplomatic about the whole thing. Very generous of me considering how stale Suzanne was acting.

Vlad pulled around to the alley again. I was about to step out of the car when a bright light shined in through the front windshield.

"Oh man!" I shrieked. "The fuzz!"

"Floor it, Vlad!" screamed Suzanne.

Vlad put the car in reverse, tires squealing as we roared back out of the alley. The policemen ran for their car. I saw them dive into the front seat just as we peeled out onto the street. As we turned the corner, two more police cars joined the chase. I gripped the door handle with a white-knuckled fist, prepared to jump at any moment. As I held onto the door I noticed something down by my feet. Something dark and...oh. I guess I hadn't lost my fanny pack after all. Very discreetly, I clipped it back around my middle.

In the backseat, Suzanne sobbed uncontrollably while Johanna continuously declared that she wasn't afraid to die. Beside me, I thought I heard Vlad mumble something about "never going back to that place again". We neared the Leliegracht with the police still in hot pursuit. How would I ever explain this to Shannon's mother?

"Why are we slowing down?" asked Johanna, much too calmly.

"We're out of gas!" I yelled.

"The one thing we didn't think of!" Johanna shouted.

"That and Dawn leaving her damn fanny pack at McDonalds," spat Suzanne.

I'd had enough. I didn't need to take their abuse. The car was still moving pretty fast, but I didn't care. I opened the door and jumped out. I rolled to the sidewalk, then sprang to my feet and took off running. Behind me, I heard one of the police cars screech to a stop. The officers were now pursuing me on foot. I still had two blocks to run. I didn't know if I could outrun them. All I did know was that I didn't want to go to prison. I didn't want to be some woman named Hildegarde's bitch.

Then up ahead I saw it. Saw it and heard it. The low creak of a rusty old bicycle. On that bicycle was a girl with long, frizzy hair. "Gerhild!" I screamed, running faster. The policemen couldn't keep up with me. I'd left them far behind. "Gerhild!" I screamed again. Never did I think I'd be so thrilled to see anyone associated with Mallory Pike.

Gerhild Gegenhuber stopped her bicycle and turned her head toward me, appearing shocked and confused. I didn't have time to explain. I didn't have time to ask what she was doing out so late. All I could do was jump on the back of her bicycle. "Pedal!" I shrieked. "Pedal, pedal, pedal!"

Miraculously, she obeyed. For such a small, thin girl that Gerhild Gegenhuber sure can pump her legs. We flew down the street with the wind in our hair and the distant calls of the Amsterdam police following far behind us. I stood awkwardly on the back of Gerhild's bicycle, halfway standing in the basket, halfway straddling the back wheel, the rusty spokes slicing into my ankles like razor blade kisses. I didn't care. The yells of the policemen were dying away in the warmair, fading into the night. The welcome sight of Verbruggenhuis rose before me and I knew I was safe.


	25. Mallory Chapter 25

_Dear Mom and Dad, _

Have you been getting all my postcards? I haven't heard from anyone yet. Did you lose my Amsterdam address? Or, maybe Claire got her head stuck in a giant pickle jar again? If that's the case, I understand why you haven't written or called.

I'm having such a wonderful time in Amsterdam! I've made a new friend. Her name is Gerhild and she's just like me! Isn't that dibble? I've already invited her to visit us next summer. I'm sure she can expect a big Pike family welcome! I have so much to tell you about the trip though! I have special presents for everyone!

Your Beloved Daughter,

Mal

I got a distant surprise Tuesday afternoon when I returned to Verbruggenhuis. Gerhild and I had spent the day at the Universiteit van Amsterdam (University of Amsterdam). Gerhild's mother and stepfather both teach there. Frau van der Velden teaches European Studies and Herr van der Velden teaches Linguistics. Gerhild's sister, Gudrun, is also a student there, studying Economics. We didn't visit the university on a social call, however. We were attending an extremely chilly event - a Renaissance Faire! It was a specially themed pirate one. Gerhild's just crazy about pirates.

We went dressed in costume, too. I was a wench! I wore a long white dress with Stacey's purple bustier over it and a pair of Claudia's combat boots. Then, I stuffed one of Stacey's bras with toilet paper. I completed the outfit with tons of make up (my parents would never know!) and a pink parasol. Gerhild dressed like a regular pirate - striped stockings, eye patch, knickers and torn tunic, etc. We even glued a fake parrot to her shoulder. We looked so authentic.

I was very surprised that Anna Stevenson agreed to go with us. She was quite enthusiastic about it. When I invited her, she said, "This I've gotta see." I was pleased that Anna wanted to spend time with me. However, I was disappointed that she refused to dress up and insisted on walking two steps behind me and Gerhild all day.

We returned to Verbruggenhuis around four on Tuesday. Anna immediately left with Alan Gray and Abby to sneak into something called a peep show. Gerhild and I found Mrs. Kilbourne in the kitchen with a plumber, checking something under the sink. (We still didn't know if the Kilbournes would keep Verbruggenhuis or not). As soon as I walked into the kitchen, Maria and Amanda came running. I was a bit taken aback considering that both had spent a good portion of the trip avoiding me. (I'm not sure why).

"Mallory! You got a phone call. An international phone call!" cried Amanda. "Do you know how much that costs? Not as much as Priscilla, of course. She cost four hundred dollars."

"I got a phone call?" I asked in disbelief. My parents never called me during trips! They say it's nice to pretend I'm not coming back.

"From a _boy_!" said Maria. "Is he your boyfriend?"

Wow! Ben Hobart had called me? Whoa. This was a definite step from sort-of boyfriend to definite boyfriend. I hoped I could handle the pressure.

"He left a message," said Maria. "I wrote it down word for word. I'll read it to you."

"I can read it myself,"

"No! I promised him I'd give you the message word for word! Now listen,"

I shrugged. Sometimes it's best to let children have their way. The results aren't always the most desirable though. Like that time Nicky drank an entire box of wine or when Claire insisted she was a monkey and tried to jump from a tree in our yard to one in the McGill's yard. Mom and Dad (and Nicky and Claire) definitely learned from those mistakes.

Maria cleared her throat and began to read the note. "G'day Mallory. Thanks a lot for the package. It came in the mail yesterday. I blew it up straight away. It really does look just like you. Unfortunately, I...uh...kind of popped it. Could you be a bonzer sheila and buy me another one? Or, maybe three or four? Thanks, Ben,"

I didn't know what to say. The note was so romantic! I knew it was time to move forward in my relationship with Ben. Obviously, he cared deeply for me and even missed me. I wasn't used to being missed. I needed to find a way to let him know I was ready to take our relationship to the next level. After all, I had promised him a kiss if I returned from Amsterdam alive. (And, as far as I could tell, Gerhild had no plans to maim or kill me). Back home, I had a tube of pineapple chapstick saved for just that occasion.

"Gerhild, we need to go back to that store!" Not only would I buy Ben the three or four Mallory Pike blow up dolls he'd requested, I'd find him something extra special, too.

Gerhild went home to change and I went upstairs. We coordinated our outfits beforehand though. When we met outside Verbruggenhuis ten minutes later we almost looked liked twins. It was kind of cool out, so we wore sweaters. Gerhild had on her maroon one with the "G" monogrammed in silver. I wore a similar one, in forest green, that Gerhild had monogrammed with a silver "M". We also wore matching jean skirts with brown leather belts and brown sandals. Around our necks, we wore gold necklaces we'd bought at the Renaissance Faire. This guy in an elaborate Marie Antoinette costume (I don't know why. Marie Antoinette wasn't a pirate) twisted gold wire into our names. So, my necklace said "Mallory" and Gerhild's said, well, "Gerhild". If I were a brunette or Gerhild a redhead I bet we would have looked as identical as Abby and Anna Stevenson. No one would ever mistake Jessi and me for sisters with Jessi being black and all.

Gerhild and I had a pleasant ride to the Red-Light district, spending most of the tram ride discussing the Kristy McNichol film _The Pirate Movie_, which we had watched seven times that week. I enjoy Kristy McNichol on the t.v. show _Empty Nest_, Gerhild adores pirates, and we like the singing, so really, everyone won. I also told Gerhild all about The Saddle Club, which apparently isn't available in Austria. Every so often, Gerhild would ask vague questions about whether or not Dawn Schafer was mentally unstable. I didn't understand why, so I just changed the subject back to Carole, Stevie, and Pine Hollow.

Once we reached the Red-Light district, Gerhild and I headed straight to Fraulein Vankerbergen's store. I had been pleasantly surprised on our first visit. An adult store wasn't what I had expected. I'd found some really fresh gifts for my family, like the triplet's bike pump and Uncle Joe's back massager. I hoped to be equally lucky on this visit.

"_Guten tag, Fraulein_," Gerhild said when we entered the shop. "This is my new American friend, Mallory Pike,"

Fraulein Vankerbergen was seated behind the register and appeared to be wearing the same sleeveless jean shirt as the last time I saw her. She also still had a huge wad of chaw in her cheek. She spat into her spittoon, then shook my hand.

"You a natural redhead?" she asked.

"Unfortunately," I replied.

"Care to prove it?" asked Fraulein Vankerbergen.

I didn't understand what she meant, so I just stood there.

"Ah, I'm just jokin'," she laughed. "I lived in the U.S. for a few years. Northern Louisiana and Western Ohio mostly. Drove a big rig awhile. Lots of good memories, like this one time, I went to a Billy Ray Cyrus concert and...well, I guess that's a story for when you girls are older," Fraulein Vankerbergen spat into the spittoon again, then turned toward Gerhild. "Haven't seen your brother in here for a few days,"

Gerhild nodded. "Georg has been very busy. He spends all his time in his room or on the roof. I cannot figure out why,"

"Why? He's a teenage boy, that's why," chuckled Fraulein Vankerbergen. "Tell Georg that I just got a new shipment of videos in. Mostly amateur stuff, but there's this one and oh my. I tell you, this girl's going to be a star. It's girl on girl, but my supplier says he's got a straight one on the way. Tell Georg. Don't forget,"

Gerhild nodded, then we started looking around the store. I found the blow up dolls again and to my relief there were about a dozen of the redhead ones left. Actually, those were the only ones left. Imagine the luck! I picked out four and left them at the counter with Fraulein Vankerbergen. Gerhild was busy trying on a pirate costume, so I looked around by myself. I decided to buy my mom a back massager like I'd bought for Uncle Joe. I selected a hot pink one. I wandered over to a display behind the feather boas. Mary Anne had been checking it out the other night. I picked up a spray bottle. The label was in Dutch, but it smelled like raspberries. Margo would like that. I tucked it under my arm. It didn't seem fair to make the triplets share one gift, so I bought a fifty count box of prophylactic balloons. Maybe they could have a water balloon fight with some of the neighborhood kids. Plus, the balloons came in three flavors - strawberry, banana, and cola. The triplets, especially Byron, really like to eat.

I deposited those with Fraulein Vankerbergen, too. Gerhild was now in full pirate costume, sword fighting a mannequin with a couple giant back massagers. I continued on my gift giving quest. First, I found some Dutch Barbie dolls for Claire. I'm not sure what "anatomically" translates to in Dutch or if "correct" is the same in Dutch as in English. I couldn't ask Gerhild because her Dutch is almost as bad as mine. And, I was too afraid to ask Fraulein Vankerbergen. (That natural redhead question both confused and frightened me). I was really on a roll. Nicky had recently become interested in aviation. So, what did I get for him? A video called _Belinda Blows Berlin_ which I assumed was a documentary on fighter planes in World War II. I knew Nicky would love it. In the book section, I chose a poetry collection for Vanessa called _Femme Erotika_.

No sooner hadI pulled the poetry book from the shelf than I spotted it. What was it? The perfect gift for Ben! Correction - the perfect book for _me_ and Ben. The title appeared to be in Latin, which of course I don't speak. Somehow though, I just knew the book was what I'd been looking for.

"Hey, Gerhild, what does 'Kama Sutra' mean?"

Gerhild paused in her imaginary sword play. "What?" she asked.

"Kama Sutra," I repeated. Gerhild was very gifted with languages (even though she hadn't managed to learn Dutch yet). Besides German and English, she was fluent in Italian and Spanish. Other than English, the only language I knew was Pig Latin.

"I do not know what that means," replied Gerhild.

"Here," I said, pushing the book into her arms. "I think it's Latin."

"I do not start learning Latin until next term," Gerhild told me.

"Well, it's probably close to Italian and Spanish. Maybe you can figure it out. You know so much about foreign languages,"

Gerhild stood a little straighter and said, proudly, "That's true. I do know much about languages. My mother speaks eight, including Finnish, which is _very_ difficult to master. And, my father, he teaches Russian - "

"Yes, yes," I interrupted. "I know all that. Now, what does this say?"

Gerhild studied the cover, then flipped through some of the pages. She knitted her eyebrows together in deep concentration. Finally, she smiled, a bit smugly, and shut the book. "I have it figured out," she told me. "Kama Sutra means 'true love'. In the text and all these drawings, it tells you how to fall in love,"

I squealed, "Perfect! That's just what I need for Ben!" I hugged the book to my chest. "This is so acu -" I stopped myself. I had to be careful about the BSC-created slang I used with Gerhild. The other day, after I said "dibble" eleven times, she went home and tried to look it up in her German-English dictionary. "This is just perfect," I told her.

Gerhild nodded. "It is good I could translate for you,"

"I know! Thank you so much, Gerhild. I really owe you one,"

Gerhild waved her hand, like it was no big deal. She appeared quite pleased with herself. I just couldn't believe my luck. I'd found all those terrific gifts for my family and now I had a guide to True Luv. I'd no longer have to rely on Stacey for advice, which was a good thing considering no one had seen her in over a week.

I paid for my items and Fraulein Vankerbergen loaded them into a large plastic shopping bag. The bag had a picture on it of a man and woman doing something I didn't quite understand. Perhaps the man was performing the Heimlich Maneuver? I'd ask Mrs. Kilbourne or Mrs. Carson when I returned to Verbruggenhuis. Before we left, Fraulein Vankerbergen made Gerhild buy the pirate costume she'd been leaping around the store in, citing the "you wear it, you buy it" policy. Then, we said goodbye to Fraulein Vankerbergen, who spat once more in her spittoon and told me to come back to see her when I grew four inches and wore a bra.

As soon as Gerhild and I walked into Verbruggenhuis, Kristy yelled, "Finally! You're back! We have reservations at _Cinema Paradiso_," then she blew her whistle and headed for the door.

"I thought you lost that," said Shannon, irritably.

"So, did I," replied Kristy. "I found it under some of Greer's stuff."

"I'm still wondering how you found it," snapped Greer.

"Can you guys wait just a minute?" I asked. "I need to grab something upstairs,"

Kristy sighed, heavily. Shannon jabbed her in the side and said, "Of course, we can. We'll be on the stoop."

When I came back downstairs, Gerhild was the only one waiting in the foyer. Dawn was standing at the bottom of the stairs though, wearing a gray baseball cap and a pair of dark sunglasses. Her lovely white blonde hair was tucked under the hat. She and Gerhild were watching each other in an awkward silence.

"Are you coming to dinner?" I asked Dawn.

Dawn shook her head and mumbled something, then headed back upstairs.

I shrugged and walked over to Gerhild. "Here, Gerhild, this is for you," I told her, handing over the thin book. "It's the third book in the Saddle Club series, but I think you'll be able to follow along. It's a thank you for helping me out today. And, for being such a good friend. We're even steven now."

"Thank you, Mallory. I look forward to reading it,"

She slid the book into her shopping bag, then slipped her arm through mine. We joined Kristy, Mary Anne, Greer, and Shannon on the front stoop. Mary Anne had out one of her guide books, which she read to us as we started walking. "_Cinema Paradiso_ is an Italian restaurant located in the Jordaan. Spacious and light, the restaurant's in an old cinema..."

As we walked toward the tram stop in the cool evening air, my thoughts drifted away from Mary Anne's words. Instead, I thought of me and Ben and our future as a couple. Would the Kama Sutra bring us closer? I couldn't be sure, but I hoped so.


	26. Mary Anne Chapter 26

_Logan Bruno, _

_Rogue! Gigolo! Yes, that's right. I know all about your many dalliances and conquests - Shawna Riverson, Ashley Wyeth, Janine Kishi, Tess Swinhart, Mrs. Kuhn. Your family spilled all your dirty little secrets. I bet you thought I'd break down in uncontrollable sobs. Actually, I did. But afterward, I went out and landed a conquest of my own. Yes, Logan, the fruit has been spoiled and I am a painted lady. _

_Your EX-Girlfriend, Mary Anne Spier _

_P.S. Janine Kishi! What were you thinking?_

My tears over Logan had long since dried by Wednesday. That night in the sex shop opened my eyes and gave rise to a new Mary Anne. One more confident, more spontaneous, and completely in control of her sexuality. I realized as I stood in the soft-core porn aisle, the penis pump fallen at my feet, that even if Logan refused to give me a ride on his rollercoaster of love, plenty of other boys would be happy to oblige. Countless love carrots were waiting to be discovered and I, Mary Anne Spier, would taste them all.

Unfortunately, my meeting with Stephen Montalbano did not go well. Actually, it didn't happen at all. Thursday night, I headed to the youth hostel as planned. I looked rather acute in a freshly pressed cream-colored blouse and a gray kilt and a pair of Stacey's crotchless panties. I was getting a little antsy on the tram, so I jogged the last block to the youth hostel. Face flushed with excitement and anticipation, I approached the hostel...just in time to see three policemen lead Stephen Montalbano out of it. A fourth policeman was close behind with a nun and a goat. I knew I wouldn't see Stephen Montalbano ever again.

I was filled with a sinking disappointment the entire tram ride back to Verbruggenhuis. That antsy feeling hadn't gone away. That vibrator I found under Greer's bed was starting to look pretty good. So was Alan Gray. Dejected and desperate, I slowly walked from the tram stop to Verbruggenhuis.

As I approached Verbruggenhuis, I noticed a dark figure on the roof of the van der Velden-Gegenhuber house next door. At first I figured it was Mallory and Gerhild playing pirates or horses or something. But there was something suspicious about the way the figure was laying flat with a pair of binoculars pressed to their eyes, looking right into a lighted window of Verbruggenhuis. I decided to investigate. I stood in the narrow alley between the two houses and looked up. From where I was standing I couldn't tell what the person was staring at. Curiosity overcoming my fear, I climbed the ladder that ran straight up the side of the van der Velden-Gegenhuber house. (I'd only ever seen such ladders in movies. I felt like a real Hollywood starlet climbing up one).

I pulled myself onto the roof and discovered Gerhild's brother, Georg, staring through the binoculars at a half-naked Anna Stevenson. She was sitting in a chair, playing the violin, completely oblivious to the Peeping Tom.

"What are you doing?" I asked, sternly.

Georg startled and scrambled to his feet. "Uh...stargazing," he replied.

I started to protest. I knew _exactly_ what he was doing. I may be shy and a little naive, but I'm not stupid. I almost read him the riot act, but then...I got distracted by the way Anna Stevenson's right breast pressed into the violin. It was quite exciting to watch, concealed by the cloak of darkness.

Honestly, I don't know what happened next. Somehow Georg and I ended up on the chaise lounge his sister Gudrun uses for tanning. Clothes were flying, tongues were panting, and Georg Gegenhuber was riding me like a shetland pony.

As of Wednesday morning, Georg and I had been wrapped in a blanket of sexual ecstasy for nearly a week. Like I once overheard Sharon say about Mr. and Mrs. Pike, Georg and I were "mating like rabbits". Of course, we were using protection. No glove, no love. Stacey taught me that. Georg slipped on a condom before our every encounter. Ultra thin and ribbed for her pleasure. Dad wouldn't sign the permission slip for me to take Sex Ed. last winter, but I do read _Teen_ magazine.

Georg said he had a surprise planned for me that afternoon, so I knew I needed to eat a hearty breakfast. Kristy, Abby, and I were on our fourth pancakes when Dawn and Jessi walked into the kitchen. Jessi and I avoided eye contact. I was _so_ embarrassed about her walking in on me in that kitten mask. I almost started crying again. Maybe she didn't know what I was doing? She is only eleven, after all. But, by the way Jessi refused to meet my eyes, I knew she knew _exactly_ what had been going on. I just hoped she hadn't figured out Georg's identity. Jessi would tell Mal, then Mal would tell Gerhild. I did _not_ want Gerhild to know I'd been making mad, passionate love to her brother. Gerhild was kind of weird. I didn't need her trying to force me to walk the plank or something.

"Can I have some pancakes?" asked Dawn.

"The syrup isn't organic," replied Kristy.

"That's okay," said Dawn, putting two pancakes onto her plate.

I knew I'd been busy living the life of a Harlequin romance heroine, but it hadn't escaped my notice that Dawn had been acting odd. She hadn't screeched at anyone in more than twenty-four hours. And she wouldn't take off her baseball cap and sunglasses. If I wasn't so consumed with thoughts of handcuffs and new ways to pleasure Georg with them, I might have inquired about Dawn's troubles.

I spent most of the morning shopping with Shannon and Greer. (Dawn refused to leave Verbruggenhuis). In the afternoon, Kristy, Abby, and I decided to hang around the Leliegracht. Kristy and Abby kicked a soccer ball around, then organized some kids for a game. I sat on a bench and read a book about bondage, hidden in the pages of a Dutch fashion magazine. It was a peaceful day that allowed me to conserve my energy for my evening tryst with Georg.

At four-thirty on the dot, I spotted Georg walking up the block. He'd spent the day at work, giving bus tours. Georg really was my dream boy. Not only was he open minded and willing sexually, but he was a genuine tour guide! My friends always joke about me being a walking guidebook (everyone enjoys my facts though), but I had found the real deal in Georg. He knew _everything_ there is to know about Amsterdam and The Netherlands. It was, after all, his job. He knew all the little trivial facts that don't make it into the guidebooks. It was much better touring Amsterdam with him than with Mallory and Gerhild. Gerhild's all right, but she knows _nothing_ about Amsterdam. She can barely even string a single sentence together in Dutch. I guess I couldn't blame her since she doesn't live in Amsterdam year round.

I slipped away quietly. Kristy had a nine-year-old in a headlock, so I doubt she noticed. I wasn't bold enough to kiss Georg in public (that would be _so_ embarrassing), so I waited until we were in his house. Then I sort of tackled him. Georg giggled as I bit his neck. I was _never_ that free with Logan.

"I have a wonderful evening planned," Georg told me, after returning from upstairs, where he'd gone to change. He looked very handsome in his khaki shorts, green polo shirt, socks, and brown sandals. I had borrowed Dawn's sailor dress for the evening, so I knew we looked like the perfect couple. I playfully ruffled Georg's mop of curly hair and bit him once more on the neck, then he escorted me to the tram stop. Tiffany Kilbourne was also on the tram, wearing too much make up and more of Stacey's clothes. I pretended not to see her and she returned the favor.

Georg covered my eyes as we exited the tram, not wanting to ruin the surprise. We walked a few feet, then Georg said, "All right, Mary Anne, you've told me this is one of your favorite places in the world,"

"I'm so excited!" I squealed.

"Ta da!" yelled Georg, uncovering my eyes.

"The Hard Rock Cafe!" I shrieked, jumping up and down. "The Hard Rock Cafe Amsterdam!" I hugged him, thinking of all the souvenirs I could buy. I didn't even care that people were staring. Well, I cared a little. At least enough to blush violent red.

Georg smiled. "You said it's your dream to visit every Hard Rock Cafe in the world,"

"Oh, it is," I replied. "And I want to own a t-shirt from every Hard Rock in the world,"

Georg and I were seated right away. Surprisingly, the restaurant had hardly any customers. Strange since Stacey always says the Hard Rock is one of the most sophisticated places in New York. I was starting to miss Stacey. I hoped she'd come back soon.

"What I love about the Hard Rock," I told Georg,"is that no matter where it is, the menu's the same! It reminds me of the very first time I ate at the Hard Rock New York. I was with the Baby-Sitters Club. It was amazing. Kristy ordered filet mignon, only she called it fill-it mig-nun." My eyes started to mist from the memories. Georg looked kind of confused. He was used to seeing me in the throes of passion, not dabbing at my eyes with wadded napkins.

After dinner (we both had cheeseburgers and Cokes. At Hard Rock, it's not the food that matters, it's the atmosphere), Georg and I window shopped. I wasn't familiar with that part of the city (the Max Euweplein) and, of course, Georg was happy to show me around. Georg said he had another surprise for me, so we hopped a tram to the Leidseplein. I hadn't spent much time in the Leidseplein either, but Dawn spoke of it often. Protesting, as usual, I suppose.

"So, where are we headed?" I asked Georg, as we walked through the Leidseplein.

"I guess I can tell you," he said. "We're going to see Boom Chicago, an American comedy troupe. Gudrun, Gerhild, and I went earlier this summer. It's very humorous."

I was a tad disappointed. I'd hoped we were headed for someplace kinkier than a comedy club. I smiled anyway. Georg was trying to make the evening special. So far, it was far better than the dates Logan and I went on to Tuesday Chili Boat Nite at Renwick's.

"That's the McDonald's that got vandalized," said Georg, pointing across the street.

"Vandalized?"

"Didn't you hear? Some crazy environmentalists broke in and stole all the hamburger patties. They also destroyed a soda machine and smashed a few windows,"

A cold feeling ran down my spine. "When was this?" I asked.

"Monday night?" Georg replied. "Yes. Monday. The police caught two girls. I think they attend my school, actually. The police are still searching for the driver of the getaway car. He drove into a butcher shop, then ran away. Another girl got away, too. She is what you Americans call 'on the lam'. Is that the correct phrase? The other girls won't give up her identity, or the driver's,"

Dawn! I could not believe it. My own stepsister, a fugitive from justice! It explained so many things - the baseball cap, the sunglasses, the refusal to leave the house, the constant mutterings about "the pigs". I assumed she was angry over Kristy and Greer eating bacon the other morning. Oh, Dawn, I thought, what have you done? My eyes welded with tears. Dad would be very upset. As an attorney, he believes in abiding by the law. I wasn't sure how Sharon and Mr. Schafer would react. They were social activists in their younger days, too. Dawn often bragged about how they helped burn down the Forestry building at Humboldt State during an anti-war protest. After a day or two, Sharon would probably forget Dawn's criminal record and eat her shoe.

My family was about to be launched into turmoil over the rashness of Dawn's actions. There was only one thing I could do. "Georg, I'm sorry, but can we just go back to your house?" I asked. "My mind is in chaos and its only cure is your banging it against a headboard."

Georg appeared taken aback at my suggestion. Truthfully, so was I. In the past few days, I'd gotten quite bold in my sexual propositions. Perhaps, Amsterdam truly was turning me into the All-New Mary Anne Spier. Shannon kept insisting the city brought out the worst in everyone. I disagreed. Amsterdam gave me so much and freed me from the chains of my virtue, chains unfairly bound to me by Logan and my father. In Amsterdam, I was someone stronger and no one would control me ever again.


	27. Tiffany Chapter 27

_Dear Grandma Kilbourne, _

_Hey, Grams, how's it shakin' at the Old Folks Home? Hope you haven't lost your dintures in the potatoe salad again. Amsterdamn is awsome. I never want to go back to Stoneybrook or lame ass SDS. Guess what? I've got a boyfrend! He's sweat and cute and rilly smart. I like him alot. Don't tell Mom and Dad, ok? You'll probly forget all this in a couple hours anyway. Seenilitey's a bitch, huh? _

_Cya, Grams! _

_Tiffany K._

My time in Amsterdam really improved once I ditched Shannon and her lame babysitting friends. Without them blowing whistles in my ear and trying to help me cross the street, I could totally let loose and experience Amsterdam as it was meant to be experienced. I wasn't experiencing it on my own either. I'd told Grandma Kilbourne the truth. I _did_ have a boyfriend. He was Tyson Hillie, the boy I met at Hotel Deconstruction. Although, he wasn't really a _boy_. He was nineteen and a sophomore in college! We spent nearly every spare moment together after our first meeting. Having a boyfriend was _awesome_. We were totally falling in love.

Of course, he still thought my name was Stacey and didn't know I was eleven. Those were minor details that I tried not to think about. Besides, Tyson and I were too busy making out for me to worry about my deception. I liked him too much to tell the truth. He'd never speak to me again. I couldn't risk that. Tyson thought I was interesting and smart. No one had ever thought that about me.

It's not like Tyson and I _just_ made out. We talked all the time. Tyson knew what it's like to lack what a perfect sister has excess of. His older sisters both joined the Peace Corps after graduating from Duke with degrees in chemistry and mathematics. The glare from such perfectioncan beblinding. Tyson knew how it felt to shrivel in the shadows of greatness while struggling to pull a "C" in chorus.

I couldn't tell anyone at Verbruggenhuis about Tyson. They totally wouldn't understand. I probably could have told Mom without worry that she'd listen. She never hears a word I say. My summer romance was a little too mature for the Baby-Sitters Club though. Kristy would have put me under house arrest. She's such a control freak. Shannon would have throttled Tyson, then lectured me on how I'm not perfect like her. Mallory Pike could stand to hear about my adventures in love, but the shock might kill her. Although, I had seen her reading the Kama Sutra, so maybe she's not a total doofus after all.

No one seemed to notice how often I'd been leaving the house. (Except for nosy Shannon who needs a life of her own). The other girls had their own problems. Claudia and Jessi stank of bad weed all the time. I've been to the Taylor house often enough to know what that smells like. Dawn was hiding out from the cops. Apparently, I was the only person in Verbruggenhuis actually watching t.v. I recognized Dawn's psycho friends the minute their crazy-eyed mug shots flashed on the screen. I'd totally have turned Dawn in, except there was no reward. Yet. Oh, yeah, Stacey was still missing and no one cared.

Our vacation was winding down by Wednesday night. Tyson's flight left that Friday, so we didn't have much time remaining. That really bummed me out. I didn't want to say goodbye. We didn't have a future as a couple, which I couldn't tell Tyson because it would mean admitting that I was a liar. In a few weeks, he'd be back at the frat house and I'd be suffering another semester with the morons at SDS. At least I could brag about my hot college boyfriend. I'd totally be the only sixth grader who learned to give head over the summer.

Being eleven is complicated.

I spent the morning with Tyson and his obnoxious frat brothers. We went for Japanese food, which I hope to never eat again. Talk about gross. I don't think the frat boys liked me too much, especially not when I spat that sushi back onto my plate. I gave Tyson a few hours alone with the idiots while I went back to Verbruggenhuis. I watched television most of the afternoon. The Dutch rerun such lame American shows. How is _Columbo_ relevant anymore? Don't even get me started on _MacGuyver_. Unfortunately, there were no more news items about Dawn's brush with the law.

At four-thirty, I caught the tram. I was totally smoking in another of Stacey's outfits. Jean miniskirt, scoop-necked sleeveless lavender shirt, the glittery violet heels I'd officially claimed as my own. I even had on Stacey's bra and panties. I was, like, a treat for the senses. Mary Anne Spier was also on the tram. I ignored her. I didn't need her interrogating me. She looked pretty nervous anyway since she was with that frizzy-haired guy from next door. She didn't want anyone to know they were screwing.

I'd like to take complete credit for figuring that one out. Unfortunately, I must tell the truth. During my daily search through Stacey's belongings I rifled through Mary Anne's suitcase as well. I thought I hit the jackpot when I found her diary. Then I read the sentence that will haunt me forever - _"I appreciate the precision and intensity with which Georg wields his manstaff."_ Ew! That and the fact I saw them going at it on the roof kind of clued me in.

I met Tyson in front of The Pancake Bakery, one of his favorite places in Amsterdam. We'd been three times already. The talking pig statue at the entrance freaked me out. The restaurant was also thick with cigarette smoke at all times. It made me sort of sick, but I suffered through. That night, Tyson surprised me with a stuffed koala bear. I'd told him a few days before how much I like them. Tyson remembered every single thing I said. I felt special with him. I didn't recall ever feeling special before.

Tyson and I sat close together at our table. He kept leaning in to kiss me or nuzzle my neck. I couldn't stop giggling. I don't know what girls are always complaining about. Having a boyfriend is _so_ easy. Tyson and I kissed until the waitress brought our pancakes. I got bananas and strawberries on mine. Tyson's had peaches. Dutch pancakes taste sort of like a thick crepe. They don't come in stacks either. Instead, it's a single giant pancake. They're pretty tasty. I kissed Tyson after each bite. He tasted like peaches and powdered sugar and thick, sweet syrup. He slipped a hand up my skirt and massaged my left thigh. I felt warm and cold all at the same time. Sometimes when I'm with Shannon it feels like she's taking up all the air in the room and I'm going to suffocate if she doesn't let me breathe. That's how I felt with Tyson. Like someone was sucking all the air from the room and I might pass out at any moment. With Shannon, it's not a good feeling, but somehow with Tyson, it was the only way I wanted to feel.

"Let's get out of here," whispered Tyson.

"And go where?"

"Not to the youth hostel. Not after that moron snuck in that goat. We can find some place though,"

"You mean a hotel,"

Tyson didn't answer. We'd had the same conversation the past three nights. He wasn't pushy, but I knew what he wanted. I just wasn't sure if I could go that far. I've read all about sex in V.C. Andrews books and it didn't sound too appealing. But I wanted Tyson to like me. I wanted Tyson to _love_ me. I needed him to keep thinking me smart and pretty and interesting. But I didn't know if I could go that far.

We left the restaurant. We held hands and walked through the streets. We didn't head for a hotel and Tyson didn't suggest it. Instead, we just walked. I told him about my garden and Astrid and how much I hate being the middle daughter, stuck between two perfect sisters. Basically, the same things I always talked about. Then I explained to him why a tomato is legally a vegetable, which seemed like an interesting story, but I'm not sure if it really was. Then Tyson started talking about the Masai. I never did figure out if that was a person or a place or maybe a whole group of people. It seemed dumb to ask.

Once it started getting dark, Tyson and I slipped behind a building. I unhooked his belt and got down on my knees. According to Tyson, I could suck a Buick through a straw.

Tyson kept moaning, "Stacey, Stacey, Stacey," which made me sort of sick. It hurt knowing I'd never hear him use my real name. After we finished, I felt depressed about the whole thing. I watched Tyson zip his pants and tried not to dwell on whether or not I was a bad person. Amsterdam was supposed to be fun. I wasn't having fun while feeling guilty.

"Let's go to the Red-Light District," I said to Tyson. "I've never been to a strip club." I intended to get as much mileage out of Stacey's fake I.D. as possible.

"A strip club?" repeated Tyson, surprised.

"Oh, don't be scared," I teased. "It'll be totally fun."

"Well...I don't really like - " but I grabbed his hand and pulled him out to the street.

Tyson and I caught the next tram to the Red-Light District. I swear, Amsterdam is not big enough. It seemed I couldn't board a tram without seeing a member of the Baby-Sitters Club. This time it was whiny ass Jessi. I think I'd rather run into Kristy and her whistle. Jessi was too busy whining to notice me. She was with her white Rastafarian friend (what a weirdo. Hello, you're totally not black, so stop trying). Jessi was stressing about going to some place called Ethiopia. Wherever that was, I hoped it was far away.

I felt my confidence building again as we walked up to the strip club. There are clubs all over the Red-Light District, but I chose one far out of the way. The last thing I needed was to run into someone who'd blow my cover. Shannon, Greer, and that Alan kid still had their fake I.Ds. (I'm so glad everyone finally stopped insulting my intelligence by denying that that kid was living in the attic closet). And I wouldn't put it past Claudia to attempt to crawl through another bathroom window.

As usual, I wasn't carded. I threw my shoulders back and strutted past the bouncer. Sometimes even I believed I was eighteen. My maturity was quite impressive. Tyson and I sat at a table to the right of the stage. There weren't many other patrons. Tyson brought me a root beer from the bar. I didn't need alcohol loosening my tongue. I've seen my parents drunk enough times to know it doesn't improve a situation. I realized very quickly that a strip club wasn't as cool as I expected. I mean, it was just a bunch of naked women dancing. I danced naked in front of my mirror all the time. Nothing too spectacular about that.

"This is lame," I told Tyson.

He nodded. "I'd much rather look at you, Stacey."

"Really? Because I could totally dance better than those girls. Watch this," I stood up and lifted my shirt over my head. It was definitely time to liven up the night.

"Uh...Stacey, I don't think patrons are supposed to take off their clothes,"

I tossed the shirt at him, then unzipped my skirt. "So? We can tell everyone how we got thrown out of a strip club,"

I stepped out of the skirt and kicked it toward him. Then I walked up to the stage in just my bra, panties, and those awesome heels. I was glad I'd worn Stacey's dark purple satin bra and panty set. I looked _hot_. I climbed onto the stage and grabbed the nearest pole. I swung around it a couple times then twirled to the end of the stage, close to Tyson. No one else appeared to have noticed me. I couldn't recall ever seeing anyone strip on t.v. That was weird. I'd never been able to not relate a moment in my life to something I saw on television.

I had seen _Dirty Dancing_ thirty-seven times though. I just let out my inner Jennifer Grey. I was getting pretty into it when the music changed. Techno blows. I heard new strippers scrambling onto the stage, but I kept dancing. I couldn't believe I was getting away with it. My dancing must have been better than I thought. Tyson looked like he was enjoying it. Screw that Ms. Skyer for giving me a "D" in the folk dancing unit.

"You aren't supposed to be on the stage," hissed a voice behind me.

I spun around, prepared to fight my way off the stage. Instead, I gasped. I faced the real Stacey McGill - wearing nothing but a cowboy hat and buttless chaps.


	28. Stacey Chapter 28

**blanket apologist**, this one's for you.

_

* * *

__Dear Mom, _

There's no place I'd rather be than home with you. Honest.

XOXO Stacey

I wasn't sure why I kept running into Tiffany Kilbourne. It seemed a cruel twist of fate to be repeatedly discovered under less than ideal circumstances by a sometime charge. I should have been setting a positive example, not...well, not doing what I was doing. Tiffany shouldn't have been there either. If I were a better babysitter, if I had anything left in me to care, I would have demanded answers. But, I was too worn out and drained to worry about Tiffany Kilbourne spinning around a pole in my bra and panties. In my undergarments and heels, she almost looked like me. Later, I would wonder if she was actually trying to be me. Right then, if she had asked, I would have gladly given her my life, allowed her to take possession of my burdens and humiliations and suffer whatever consequences might await me.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

When Tiffany Kilbourne caught me onstage at a seedy strip club, twirling a lasso in a costume that consisted solely of an ill-fitting cowboy hat and a pair of buttless chaps, I didn't know what to say. Neither did Tiffany. For awhile, we simply stared at each other. Finally, Tiffany broke the silence.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I'm Billie Jean the Lasso Queen," I replied, which was the truth.

Tiffany got a funny look on her face. She ran for the edge of the stage, then tripped and fell onto the floor. A boy with a ponytail ran to her aid. Quickly, Tiffany jumped back up and ran (with a slight limp) to the exit. The boy gathered her clothes and followed. He was much too old for her, but at that point, I really wasn't in the position to give anyone advice.

How did I, Stacey McGill, a bright and sophisticated star of Stoneybrook Middle School, end up shaking my bare behind and yelling "Yee Haw!" in an Amsterdam strip club? Honestly, not even I know how I got to that point in my life. The last several days had been a blur of confusion, desperation, and panic. The night I encountered Tiffany, I was doing more than stripping. I was really waiting, waiting for Stas to rescue me again.

My new life as a stripper was all Orchid's fault. If she hadn't insisted on driving a wedge between Stas and me none of this would have happened. I don't know why she was out to get me. Why would anyone try to stand in the way of True Luv?

A week had passed since Stas and Orchid's argument. I still wasn't sure why they had fought. Stas insisted it was because of Orchid's jealousy and bossiness. I didn't want to doubt the word of the man I loved, but I did wonder - was Stas telling me the absolute truth? I was beginning to take notice of some odd things at the Forbidden Fruit. Like, why did different private tutors come every day? Why were the girls locked in their rooms? And not allowed to leave the house? Could it really be for their protection?

The days after the argument were tense. Orchid kept making vague comments about my going upstairs. I couldn't figure out why she was so obsessed with moving me upstairs. What was going on up there that was so important? Despite Stas' reassurances, I began to worry. Then, Saturday morning, Stas dropped a bomb of epic proportions.

He was leaving me.

"Just for a few days," he promised, throwing some shirts into a duffel bag. "I must recruit...uh, rescue girls from Romania,"

"Orchid says you won't have any use for me when you get back," I told him.

"Do not listen to anything Orchid tells you. She is a liar. You know, Orchid is not her real name. If a person cannot even tell you the truth about their name, how can you trust anything they say?"

Stas had such a way of putting things into perspective. I pushed out all the worries and doubts, although I heard their echoes nagging far in the recesses of my mind. I needed to trust Stas. I had no other choice.

After Stas left for the airport, I settled into the parlor, where I could sit and worry. I played checkers with one of the Danish girls, Rikke, who was sort-of my friend, if only because she spoke the best English of all the girls. From the parlor, I could hear Orchid walking back and forth through the house. The locks on the door to the Forbidden Fruit would turn loudly and she'd pass by the parlor, her giant keyring jingling at her waist. I'd hear her footsteps on the stairs, often with the heavier footsteps of a man following. The men were always coming. Sometimes Orchid lead the way and sometimes the men went up on their own. Orchid would walk back down the stairs, the keys still jingling at her waist. She'd pass the parlor again, turn her key in the locks, step back into the Forbidden Fruit, and lock the door behind her. It wasn't until then that I realized what a prison we were all living in.

In the hours after Stas' departure, a fear began to swell inside me. Suddenly, the staircase seemed dark and foreboding and for the first time, I was terrified of being sent up its steps. I didn't understand why, but the jingle of Orchid's keys beating against her hips seemed to speak to me, as if promising an impending doom.

I felt cold and sick and used.

I said to Rikke then, because I had no other confidante, "As much as I love Stas, I feel so guilty. Guilty for leaving my friends, guilty for being with Stas. I feel dirty, but don't know why. Is this how love feels? I'm ready to go home, but all this guilt...I don't think I can do it. I can't ever go home again,"

Rikke moved a checker and in a dull voice replied, "That's what they want,"

I didn't understand.

We went on playing. An hour later, a commotion broke out upstairs. I figured it was one of the men getting out of hand again (some took their tutoring far too seriously) and soon enough Orchid would dash up the stairs with the baseball bat and chase the offending tutor down the stairs and out the back door. I'd witnessed that scene several times already. However, it was not a man that flew down the stairs, but Daniela, wild-haired and crazy-eyed. Orchid pursued her down the stairs, shouting in some other language - Dutch or German or Italian, all foreign languages blended together to me.

Rumors had circulated for several days that Daniela would soon be forced out of the house. Daniela's seventeenth birthday was fast approaching and according to Stas, seventeen was much too old. As strange and scary as she was, I felt very sorry for Daniela, standing at the bottom of the stairs, a paper sack in her arms, dressed in an ill-fitting black dress that hung loosely on her skeletal frame.

Orchid and Daniela were talking heatedly. Other girls were beginning to gather on the stairs, watching and listening, and a lucky few could even understand the words exchanged in some foreign tongue. Orchid said something more, then cast a meaningful look in my direction. Instantly, I knew. Daniela was being sent away, so I could take her place. By night fall, Orchid intended to have me locked in Daniela's vacated room on the third floor.

The keyring gleamed menacingly on Orchid's waist. Whatever awaited me up those stairs, I did not wish to meet it.

I ran to Stas' room and hauled my suitcase out from under the bed. Like a mad woman, I threw in my clothes, my toiletries, my insulin kit, everything that would fit. I wasn't safe in that house without Stas. Something was not right at the Forbidden Fruit. I guess I'd suspected all along. A dark cloudloomed above the staircase, like a cruel monster lying in wait, and Orchid planned to lead me to it like a lamb to sacrifice.

Orchid was gently pushing Daniela out the back door. Prepared to fight my way through, I shoved Orchid out of my path, knocking me and Daniela into the alley. I grabbed Daniela's hand and ran. If Orchid was stunned by my actions she overcame it quickly. As Daniela and I ran out to the street I heard Orchid calling after me, "Wait! Stacey! Wait! You're making a mistake!"

Daniela and I ran until we reached the nearest tram stop. As we caught our breath, I took stock of our current situation. I had no money, except a few Euros. For some reason, Stas had never trusted me with money. I still couldn't return to Verbruggenhuis. How would I explain Daniela? And what if Stas came looking for me? As I stood pondering my next choice (which I knew I couldn't trust. So far my choices had been rather poor), Daniela showed me what Orchid had given her before shoving her out the door. Twenty Euros and an address.

And that's how I began my life as a stripper.

Rudolph, the club manager was expecting onlyDaniela, of course. He didn't mind hiring me though, as long as I promised to pretend to be a genuine Texan named Billie Jean. Luckily, thanks to Mr. Prezzioso, I already knew how to twirl a lasso. Rudolph set us up in a nearby apartment, where we lived with five other girls from the club. The apartment was dark and old and cramped. Daniela didn't mind at all. She seemed happy just to be free. Daniela had a joyful reunion with the other girls. It turned out they were also refugees from the Forbidden Fruit. Girls sent away years before, not by Orchid, but by someone named Frau Epstein.

The other girls were from Romania and Belarus and only one, Nina, spoke any English. That was the trend I kept encountering. No one at the Forbidden Fruit or the strip club spoke any language useful in Amsterdam. How odd that Stas managed to collect only girls who could not function beyond the confines of the walls they were imprisoned behind. It was yet another mystery to add to a growing list, right under what was upstairs at the Forbidden Fruit and why Stas traveled across the continent to find runaways rather than look for them right there in The Netherlands. If Mallory had been there, she could have recorded my mysteries in her notebook.

I settled into a routine at the apartment. Sleeping most of the day and stripping most of the night. I was cut off from the rest of the world. I couldn't join in the constant chatter of the other girls, for I didn't speak their language. It seemed Nina didn't understand half the things I said to her. At least, she understood, more or less, when I explained about my diet and insulin shots. I tried to share my concerns about Stas never finding me, but every time I mentioned his name a cloud passed over Nina's eyes. Then she spat on the floor. I received similar reactions from the other girls. It was really strange.

The span of time between my leave from the Forbidden Fruit and my discovery by Tiffany was only four and a half days. It seemed like weeks. After Tiffany ran from the club, I worried and worried as I twirled my lasso. When it came time to hog-tie an audience member, I did so half-heartedly. So much weighed on my mind. What would Tiffany tell the BSC? Would she lead her mother to me? Would Mrs. Kilbourne call my parents? Those worries shared my mind equally with worries of Stas. Surely, Rikke would tell him I'd left with Daniela. He'd know where to find me. Yet, he hadn't come for me yet. Had something happened to him? In Romania? On the airplane? I worried so long and hard I didn't hear my music stop. Nina had to pull me off the stage.

Our shift ended at midnight. We returned to the apartment and I went straight to bed. The other girls stayed in the living room, laughing and drinking. They seemed content in their lives. Maybe they faked it. I couldn't though. I was miserable and trapped. I lay in bed convinced I'd never see Stoneybrook or my friends or my parents again. In a few years, I'd still be in that apartment, stripping at the club, just like Nina and her friends. Eternally stuck.

I felt sorry for myself for quite awhile, as I listened to the laughter on the other side of the door. I had nearly fallen into a restless sleep when the doorknob turned. I raised my head and saw lighted in the doorway a vision of white. Groggy from almost-sleep, I thought it to be an angel sent to rescue me.

"Stas?" I whispered with sleepy hopefulness.

"Silly girl," came a cool voice, "Stas has no use for you now."

The angel flicked on the dim overhead light and revealed herself to be none other than Orchid Wickersham, still appearing sour and disapproving, the farthest thing from an angel I could imagine. Dark eyes appraising, she strode into the room, as confident as if it were her own. She wore all white - a white skirt and blouse partially concealed beneath a white coat cinched tightly at her waist. The coat had a yellow daffodil-print and I vaguely recalled seeing a similar oneat a boutique in New York. It surprised me that Orchid would own something so pretty.

"Where is Stas?" I demanded.

Orchid sat down on Daniela's bed, crossed her ankles, and regarded me coldly. For once her glasses weren't perched on the end of her nose or hanging around her neck on their chain. It was as if I were seeing her for the first time, or perhaps the real her she kept hidden away.

"Stas is not coming," she finally said.

"Why not? Doesn't he know I'm here?"

"He knows. He returned from Romania last night. He is not coming for you,"

"You're lying!"

"Why would I lie? Stas has no use for you. That's the truth. He already has a new pet. A girl he brought back from Romania. She's younger than you. Petite and very flat. She would have been excellent for business. Of course, Stas will make her useless. He spoils all the best girls,"

"Stas loves me," I replied in a thin, even voice.

"Stas loves no one. Not even his most favorite pets. He would have tired of you in a few more days. He tires of us all," Orchid told me, emotionlessly. "It's just as well you left. I'd been trying to getrid of you for days. Such a silly, ridiculous girl. You would have been horrible for business. Stas thinks only of his own pleasure. He's not supposed to recruit Americans. Or such tall, busty girls. He made the same mistake with me,"

"I have no idea what you're talking about,"

Orchid's expression softened a bit. "Good. That's good. I'd rather you not know what I am, what we all are. You'll figure it out someday. You'll look back and view us all in a new light," Orchid stood then and cinched her belt tighter. "Enough of this foolishness. I can't believe you're stripping. You will ruin us all if you get caught. Where's your suitcase? You're going back where you belong. Stas does not want you. You have no reason to sit around waiting for him."

"Stas says you're a liar,"

"_I_ am a liar?" Orchid answered, mockingly.

"What's your real name?" I asked. Maybe if she told the truth I could believe everything else. Stas was right. You couldn't believe someone who lied about something as simple as their name.

Orchid appeared surprised. "My name? What does that matter? Stop wasting time,"

"I'm not leaving with you," I told her. She failed the test. I couldn't believe her. Stas might still come for me.

"Why do you want to know my name?" Orchid asked, appearing a bit panicked, and apparently not hearing my refusal to accompany her. "Is this blackmail? Are you threatening to find my parents?"

It was strange to be reminded that Orchid had parents. Ones that had searched for her a long time. I kept forgetting Orchid wasn't much older than me. I remember how I told Stas that sometimes it's too hard to go home. Just like Nina and the other girls, Orchid was stuck. I already knew I was on my way to being stuck. Orchid knew it, too. She was offering me an escape.A day would come when I could no longer leave this life behind. I'd be half-crazy like Daniela or old and sour like Orchid.

I chose another life.


	29. Alan Chapter 29

As _Amsterdam! Amsterdam!_ nears it's end, for some reason I feel the need to dedicate the final chapters to people. So, **emerald-doll**, I hope this helps cheer you up. I heard a rumor that Jessi stole your Snapper. That sucks.

* * *

_Pete: _

Mission accomplished.

-Alan

I dream up a lot of crazy schemes. Usually they fall apart pretty early on. That's what I expect. They're stupid. Why should they work? So, imagine my surprise when I actually pulled off my wildest, most grandiose scheme.

It started out as a joke. As usual on a hot summer day, Pete Black and I were hanging out at the Stoneybrook Public Library checking out the nude art books. There's not much of a selection. Mrs. Kishi keeps the really good ones locked in her office. Anyway, Pete and I were sitting in the stacks, flipping through the books and eating Cheetos. (Normally, Howie Johnson would have been with us, but his parents shipped him off to dance camp for the summer. Pete and I didn't know what to think about that. So, we tried not to think about it at all). After we tired of the books, Pete went to find the newest Danielle Steel novel (we enjoy reading the sex scenes aloud) and I went to the card catalogue. That's where I ran into Mallory Pike and her geeky boyfriend.

The gentleman that I am, I bowed gallantly and took her hand. "Good day, my auburn headed lady,"

Mallory jerked her hand away. "Not now, Alan. Can't you see I'm on a sort-of date with my sort-of boyfriend?"

Her _what_? "Sorry, milady and good sir," I said with another bow. "Do not mind me, Young Mister Hobart. I meant no offense. We need not duel over Miss Pike's honor,"

Mallory appeared flustered. I chuckled, inwardly. Just as I wanted. Chivalry is neither dead nor wasted on the homely and strange.

"Er - excuse us, Alan," Mallory finally said. "But this is my and Ben's last sort-of date before I leave for Amsterdam,"

My ears perked up. "Amsterdam?"

Mallory nodded, enthusiastically. "Yep. Our associate member, Shannon Kilbourne's second cousin died, so the entire BSC is accompanying the Kilbournes to Amsterdam! Isn't that dibble?"

Dibble, indeed. When I left Mallory and Ben at the card catalogue, an elaborate plan was already forming in my mind. I knew I needed to travel to Amsterdam, too. For the last six months, I'd been working after school at my Aunt Julitta's florist shop (not that I'd ever admit it to _anyone_) and that money was burning a hole in my pocket. I finally understood what I'd been saving for all those months - a few wild nights in the arms of a scarlet woman. I'd be one of the first guys at SMS to lose his virginity. Well, after every guy who'd dated Stacey McGill. And if I managed to infuriate Kristy Thomas in the process, even better.

The pieces fell into place easily. Logan Bruno, simpleton that he can be, unknowingly provided me with all the information I needed. Pete Black provided me with an alibi. My mom's friends the Perkinses provided me with a huge dog carrier (they really should start closing their garage door). And my dear, sweet cousin Mena provided me with a ride to the airport for the low cost of twenty dollars. I must say, for a seventeen year old, Mena did a fabulous impersonation of Kristy's mom.

I still can't believe any of it worked.

But, there I was nearing the end of a two week stay in the exciting city of Amsterdam and I hadn't been caught yet. Shannon's and Greer's mothers were completely clueless. I'd even started wandering the house freely and eating in the kitchen. No one said anything! I guess they didn't expect some kid from Stoneybrook to be living in the attic utility closet. Or, more likely, assumed I was one of those weird Gegenhubers from next door.

I strolled into the kitchen Thursday morning, feeling quite buoyant and jolly. I was wearing my purple fedora, which unlike everyone else I had _not_ stolen from Stacey, but rather from Claudia. She was so stoned out of her mind I doubt she even noticed. When I entered the kitchen, I was shocked to see Stacey sitting at the table, eating a bowl of oatmeal, as if she hadn't been missing for over a week. She looked dull and tired. She barely glanced my way. Not knowing what to say, I simply bowed.

Also seated around the kitchen were, what I like to call, The Former Flames of Alan Gray. Kristy Thomas, Claudia Kishi, and Greer Carson. Kristy and I had a thing back in seventh grade. She was crazy about me. I let her down gently though. As a strong young buck, I needed space to play the field. Claudia had pursued me through a personal ad, even telephoning to beg for a date. All that puff paint and men's clothing is just not my style. I let her down gently, too. Stacey and I, of course, had our little one night fling in the alley. Now that she was back, I hoped she didn't want to start up again. Sure, she had magic fingers and according to Pete, a mouth and tongue that can change a guy's life, but I was ready to start something serious with Greer. There was just that pesky problem of Greer not speaking to me.

Greer and I, we'd been having a fun time in Amsterdam. That is, until Kristy Thomas forced us onto her pedal boat team. Kristy and that Justin guy ruined any chance I had with the prettiest, smartest girl who'd ever paid attention to me. Maybe ruined. Maybe not. I still had a few tricks up my sleeve.

"Miladies," I said, taking a seat. I picked up a couple apples and started juggling them. No one paid attention.

The kitchen door opened and in walked Mrs. Kilbourne in a jogging suit. "Good morning, girls!" she called, cheerily. She stopped and patted my head, "And _guten tag_ to you, young man." Did she think I was five?

"Oh, hello, Stacey," said Mrs. Kilbourne. "I haven't seen much of you this trip."

Kristy, Greer, and Claudia choked on their orange juice. Stacey looked up from her oatmeal with these odd, hollowed out-looking eyes. Mrs. Kilbourne didn't notice. I don't think Mrs. Kilbourne noticed anything ever.

"Well, I'm off to meet with Saskia's lawyer. See you girls later," said Mrs. Kilbourne leaving the kitchen.

"Mary Anne and I are going to Rembrandthuis and the Rijksmuseum. There's a special Johannes Vermeer exhibit," Claudia told us, actually sounding lucid. She even looked almost normal in pink culottes, purple plaid hightops, and a purple tank top. Too bad she was also wearing an ugly white bonnet and huge pearl earrings.

"Abby and I are taking Maria and Amanda to the Artis Zoo. I've not been yet," said Kristy.

Claudia and Kristy washed out there bowls, then left the kitchen. Stacey followed, not saying anything. That left me alone with Greer, who was scowling down at her empty bowl. Casually, I tipped back in my chair. It fell over. From the floor, I heard Greer snort. She stood to leave.

"You're such a clown, Alan," she said. Normally, I don't mind being called a clown. I pride myself on my sense of humor. I bring the fun to every party! Coming from Greer, it hurt. I jumped up and grabbed her arm.

"Wait, Greer," I said. "I'm really sorry about the other day. I want to make it up to you."

Greer stuck her nose in the air and tapped her foot, impatiently. "I'm listening,"

"Oh, I have something really special planned!" I told her. "Meet me in the foyer at one. Wear something nice. I promise you won't be sorry."

Greer narrowed her eyes. "Fine," she said, whirling around and storming from the kitchen.

Making up with her wasn't going to be easy.

At one 'o' clock, I was waiting in the foyer. Abby and Anna had helped me dress for the special occasion. Anna and I weren't sure about the rainbow suspenders, but Abby swore they looked great. I decided to listen to her. Robin Williams used to wear rainbow suspenders and he's kind of my hero. Well, him and that kid from _Saved By The Bell_.

Since my fight with Greer, I'd been spending a lot of time with the Stevenson twins. They were fun, especially Abby. If things didn't work out with Greer, I'd consider dating one of them. Or both. I know it's Pete's dream to date both Shillaber twins at the same time. Too bad Miranda hates him. Or, maybe it's Mariah. I can never tell them apart. I wouldn't mind having my own set of twins. We'd have a wild time in the utility closet, as long as Abby stopped sneezing and Anna didn't bring her violin.

Fifteen minutes late, as usual, Greer came downstairs. As soon as I saw her, I got a nervous feeling in my stomach. I never felt like that with any other girl.

"You look great," I told her. She had on this filmy green low-cut dress. It looked really nice with her reddish hair and creamy skin. Plus, I could see down her dress. She had an awesome rack. Thanks to my cousin Mena's tips on talking to girls, I knew not to tell her that though.

"The green of your dress nicely compliments your hair and skin tone, milady," I said with a bow.

"Oh, thanks, Alan. I like your...suspenders. I guess,"

"Don't worry, they won't show," I slipped on the gray sports coat I borrowed from Claudia (actually with permission - a first at Verbruggenhuis). "See? I won't embarrass you."

Greer blushed slightly, but didn't say anything. I offered my arm and escorted her to the tram stop. We didn't speak the entire ride. Greer didn't ask where we were going either. I was glad. I wanted to surprise her.

"This is it!" I said, as we stepped off the tram. We'd been let off right across the street from our final destination. Everything was falling into place.

"The _Le Pecheur_?" replied Greer. "Gee, Alan. This looks kind of expensive."

"No! No! Don't worry about it!" I insisted. "We have to eat here. It's one of the only restaurants in The Netherlands that specializes in seafood. It came very highly recommended in Mary Anne's guidebook. Uh...you do like seafood, right?"

"Of course,"

"Good. Come on then," I grabbed her arm and started to pull her toward the restaurant. Then I remembered my gentlemanly manners and slipped my arm through hers. "This way, milady,"

Inside the restaurant, I walked up to the Maitre d' and said, casually, "Reservation for Pennyweather Macintosh." Greer stifled a giggle. _Excellent_, I thought.

We were led to a table on the garden terrace. The view was even better than the guidebook promised. Surely, there was nowhere more romantic in Amsterdam. Greer appeared impressed. We studied our menus in silence. Last week, it was so easy talking to Greer. I didn't know what to say to her anymore. How had that dumb pedal boat race changed so much?

"I'm sorry about the other day," I told her.

Again, Greer blushed slightly. "Oh, it's all right, Alan. You were only having a good time. I'm the one who ruined things. I overreacted,"

I expected a big scene with shouting and arm waving and maybe some glass throwing. She'd caused quite a scene at the mooring. Shannon Kilbourne said Greer was a drama queen. For a drama queen, she was being rather nonchalant. Girls are so weird.

"I'm glad we've cleared the air, milady. I wouldn't wish you to think me a boorish brute,"

"You know, Alan, you can stop all the goofy 'milady' talk," said Greer. She didn't say it meanly, but there was something odd in her voice. In fact, there was something odd about her entire demeanor. She wasn't the same fun, carefree Greer as before. Maybe she was on her period or something. Too bad my cousin Mena told me to never ask a girl that. I asked her once and she broke a plate over my head (which sort of answered my question).

The service was pretty slow, but finally the waitress brought our food. I ordered the sautéed monkfish (had no idea what that was) and Greer ordered the spicy prawns. We sampled each other's lunches and everything tasted great. Although, between you and me, we could have had just as tasty a meal at Burger King for a lot less.

"Uh...Alan?" said Greer while we waited for dessert. "Aren't those the Stevenson twins?"

I turned in my chair. "Excellent! They're just on time!" I exclaimed, watching Abby and Anna approach.

They both wore long black dresses. Anna carried her violin. Abby promised she played an instrument, too, but refused to give specifics. As they approached, Anna lifted the violin to her shoulder and began to play. I'm not a fan of classical music, but I admit it sounded nice. Very romantic, at least. I kept waiting for Abby to produce her instrument and finally she did...and started to slap it against her knee.

"The spoons?" cried Greer, bursting into laughter.

The Stevenson twins didn't get much playing time in before the Maitre d' and a waitress rushed out onto the terrace. Anna went willingly, appearing unfazed as she left the terrace still playing her violin. Abby, however, had to be dragged away by the waitress after the Maitre'd confiscated her spoons.

"Not exactly the romantic gesture I planned," I said, as we watched Abby's feet disappear into the main dining room.

Greer stopped laughing and got that odd look on her face again. "Alan...we need to talk about something,"

Uh oh. Was she officially breaking up with me? Mena's coaching hadn't prepared me for that. I guess because Mena never expected me to actually find a girlfriend.

"Well, Alan...I've had a lot of fun with you. Actually, I don't think I would have had much fun at all if not for you. We've had some good times. I think you're a great friend. But, that's all I think of you as. A friend,"

My stomach fell to my feet. I couldn't think of anything to say. Nothing except, "Oh,"

"It's not anything personal," continued Greer, "I'm just not ready for a boyfriend or a serious relationship. We're only thirteen. Look at Mary Anne, she's been in a serious relationship for how long? And she's miserable. I don't need anyone stifling me like that. I just want to have fun,"

"I see,"

"I mean, I do like you, Alan. Maybe someday I could even like you as something other than a friend. But that day's a long way off. In the meantime, we can still have fun together. We'll get together in Stoneybrook and go on some crazy adventures. You just need to understand though that there isn't anything more between us. Nothing more than friendship,"

My stomach was still at my feet. At the same time, it felt like I'd been socked hard in the gut. All my confidence blew right off the terrace. If I said too much, I might actually have cried.

"I understand, Greer," I managed to reply.

Greer smiled, as if believing everything really was okay. The waitress brought our check then and Greer snatched it away.

"Let me pay half," she said. "As long as we're in The Netherlands, we might as well go dutch!" then she giggled. I smiled weakly and didn't protest.

We returned to Verbruggenhuis hardly saying a word to each other. Greer chattered on incessantly with some old woman on the tram. Maybe she felt uncomfortable, too. Verbruggenhuis was noisy, mostly because Kristy Thomas was there and she can't not be noisy. Kristy was assisting Abby in the reenactment of the scene at _Le Pecheur_. Mary Anne, Claudia, Shannon, weird Mallory, and her even weirder friend Ger-whatever were bouncing on the couch, squealing and laughing. Dawn and Stacey were slumped in an armchair together. Can Dawn Schafer ever _not_ be the life of the party?

I plastered a fake grin on my face as I stepped into the living room and said in a very fake cheery voice, "Ladies, ladies, what is the commotion?"

"Kristy's had another Great Idea!" shrieked Mallory.

"And what pray tell would that be? A clog dancing show? A balloon animal-making contest? A pedal boat parade?"

"No," snapped Kristy. "Although, the balloon animal-making contest is a neat idea. Write that down, Mary Anne."

"We're having a sleepover!" shouted Mallory, obviously unable to contain herself any longer.

"Yep," said Kristy. "Tomorrow night, we'll celebrate our last night in Amsterdam with a BSC tradition. Ghost stories, pizza toasts, babysitting adventures..."

"Pillow fights, skimpy nightgowns, bra freezing..." I continued.

"You're not invited, Alan!" Kristy exclaimed. "You're going next door with Gerhild's brother!"

"That gee - er, nice guy?"

"Yep, and you are to stay there _all night_!"

Right.


	30. Anna Chapter 30

_Hi Corley, _

How are you? I hope your summer has gone well. I'm having a good time in Amsterdam. Things haven't gone as planned, but I've enjoyed myself just the same. I don't think everyone else has though. Details to come when I see you again. 

Your friend, 

Anna Stevenson 

There's no way I could fit all that had happened onto one little postcard. Our Amsterdam trip had been full of surprises. Some good, some bad, and some I didn't fully understand. I greeted each new development with a little shock and - honestly - a lot of bemusement. The BSC had to be just about the most entertaining group of girls I'd ever met. As much as I enjoyed their company, I was thankful I had declined the invitation to join their club. I didn't want some outsider laughing at me the way I laughed at them. 

That sounds mean. I didn't intend to sound so callous and cruel. I really did enjoy my time with the BSC. They are - for the most part - a nice group of girls. Thanks to them, I got to go on a fun trip to Amsterdam, where I experienced many new and interesting things. I went to a coffee shop and drank a "special" milkshake (which I'll _never_ do again). I went on a covert operation to Switzerland to meet a dog. I attended a pirate Renaissance Faire (words cannot adequately describe how weird that was). And I even got thrown out of a restaurant for serenading Alan Gray. 

Of course, part of me never forgot what an outsider I really was. I never truly became part of the group. I think that's why at the start of the trip I allied myself with Tiffany Kilbourne. Then she got kind of weird and started disappearing (but not permanently like Stacey). For awhile, I got stuck hanging out with Mallory and her friend Gerhild. That was an interesting experience. The less said about it the better. And finally, I fell into an odd trio with Abby and Alan. It's strange the directions things sometimes take. 

Friday was our last full day in Amsterdam. Everyone tried to cram in last minute sightseeing and souvenir shopping and time with new friends. In between all that, Kristy drove us nuts preparing for the impromptu sleepover. If she blew that whistle in my face one more time I swore I'd shove it up her nose. I took comfort, however, in the knowledge that Kristy was completely oblivious to the fact Abby and I had rented out the BSC to Dorianne Wallingford and Lauren Hoffman. 

Around eight, Kristy chased Alan Gray out of Verbruggenhuis while everyone else changed into their pajamas. The sleepover would take place in the attic where we'd have the most room to spread out. In addition to the BSC, Greer, and me, there would be several other girls in attendance - Gerhild and her older sister, Gudrun, Jessi's friend Heather the white Rastafarian, and some girl Stacey had invited. Dawn didn't mention inviting any of her environmental friends. Maybe they heard we weren't serving organic food. 

"I'd just like to repeat for the record," said Abby, as we walked up the attic stairs, "that I am _not_ playing Truth or Dare." Abby turned and glared at Mary Anne, who blushed furiously. 

"Did I miss something?" I asked. 

"Trust me, you don't want to know," Shannon replied. 

In the attic, Abby and I set down the ice chest we'd been carrying. Mary Anne and Shannon started pouring bags of potato chips and candy into bowls. Claudia was fiddling with a radio, trying to find a station that played something other than techno or polka. The other girls were spreading blankets out in the middle of the room for us to sleep on. Abby and I had just started arranging the sodas in the ice chest when we heard an all too familiar shrill whistle. 

"All right, girls!" shouted Kristy from the doorway. "Let the BSC Amsterdam sleepover begin!" She blew her whistle again. I half expected her to fire a starter pistol. 

"This is so - what do you say, Mallory - dibble?" said Gerhild. "Gudrun and I have never been to a sleepover!" 

Claudia fell off her chair. From shock or from being stoned, I'm not sure. "What? Never been to a sleepover?" she cried. "We have sleepovers, like, twice a month!" 

"Well, then, it's the job of the BSC to ensure you have the best sleepover experience possible," said Kristy. "Is everyone here? Oh, we're missing Tiffany. Didn't she get the memo? And Stacey, where's your friend?" 

Stacey glanced up from where she lay on Abby's bed. "She's coming after work," she replied, twirling a strand of hair around her pointer finger. She still hadn't confided her whereabouts of the past week and a half. Wherever she'd been, it appeared to have destroyed a bright part of her. 

"I _suppose_ that's a valid excuse," Kristy said. "But I applaud Gerhild, Gudrun, and Heather for arriving on time. Thank you for being courteous and punctual guests. If you're lucky, I just might make you all honorary BSC members. Now, Mrs. Kilbournes's ordered the pizzas, so what should we do while we wait?" 

"We could play Truth or Dare," suggested Mary Anne. 

"No!" cried Abby, Shannon, and Jessi. 

Wow. Did I ever want to know the story behind _that_. 

"Make Smores!" yelled Claudia. 

"What is a Smore?" asked Gerhild. 

Claudia fell off her chair a second time. (I could see a trend forming). "What is a smore? What is a smore! Only the most delicious late night treat to ever combine chocolate and marshmallow. Quick, someone get me a lighter and a box of graham crackers! I have some marshmallows and chocolate bars hidden in my cowboy boots," 

"What is a graham cracker?" asked Gerhild. 

"Augh!" shrieked Claudia, flinging herself face down onto her bed. 

"Yeah, this was a great idea, Kristy," Dawn commented from where she hid in the shadows in her baseball cap and dark sunglasses. 

For once, I agreed with Dawn. (Yes, I almost died of shock, too). The sleepover was shaping up to be kind of a drag. Kristy's whistle, Stacey's sulking, Dawn's odd choice of eyewear, and Claudia falling off her chair every five seconds did not a fun evening make. Plus, the attic sort of stank. I don't think Jessi had learned to properly wash her dreads. Maybe if Greer and Dawn livened things up with a catfight or something. Otherwise, our last night in Amsterdam was going to blow like the brass section in orchestra. 

"I need to run downstairs," I announced. 

"You're not going to hole up in your room with your violin, right?" asked Abby. 

"Of course not," I replied, although the thought had crossed my mind. More than once. 

I needed a few minutes away from the group. I left just in time, too. Claudia was force-feeding Gerhild and Gudrun American candy bars, despite Gerhild's insistence that Snickers and Twix are available in Europe. I didn't really need to be around when Gerhild started choking and Kristy had to perform the Heimlich. That was a sight I could afford to miss. 

I wandered downstairs, intending to flop on my bed for awhile. Maybe write a couple more postcards and wait for the pizza to arrive. The shrill _fweet_ of Kristy's whistle paired with the thud of someone (probably Claudia) falling to the floor told me I didn't need to hurry back. 

As I was walking down the hall, I heard a retching sound coming from the bathroom. I knocked lightly and when there was no reply pushed the door open. Tiffany was kneeling in front of the toilet, dressed as ridiculously as had become usual, with her head in the bowl. When she stood, I saw her face was streaked with globs of black mascara and purple eyeliner. 

"Are you sick?" I asked, which sounded quite obvious and stupid. 

"Heartsick," she replied in a strangled voice. 

She pushed past me into the hall and headed for our room. I followed. 

"What happened?" I asked. 

"I don't want to talk about it," Tiffany answered, shutting the door in my face. 

The lock turned. So much for taking refuge in there. I had no choice but to return to the attic. I hadn't been gone more than five minutes, but the sleepover had transformed. Mrs. Kilbourne delivered the pizzas, Kristy put away her whistle (or maybe Greer hid it again), and some strange girl in torn fishnets and a lace camisole was dancing in the middle of the room. 

"This is my friend Daniela," Stacey explained to me. "She doesn't really speak English." 

"Don't worry, Stacey!" cried Mallory from where she hovered over a sausage and onion pizza. "Gerhild speaks Italian!" 

Stacey sort of flushed, a look of panic in her eyes. She grabbed Daniela's hand and pulled her to the side of the room opposite Gerhild. At that moment, I would have given my right arm to know Stacey's secrets. She had something to hide and those secrets weren't as safe as she'd assumed. Perhaps Gerhild had a greater use than rattling on endlessly about pirates. 

"Pizza toast!" someone shouted. 

"Pizza _what_?" repeated Greer. 

I had, unfortunately, bore witness to pizza toasts before. I still didn't understand their purpose. Or appeal. 

"Everyone hold up your slice of pie!" commanded Kristy. 

Everyone lifted their piece of pizza into the air. Greer grumbled while doing so and Gerhild, her sister, and Stacey's friend appeared extremely confused. 

"To Shannon's grandmother!" cried Kristy. 

"To Abraxas and Toblerone!" shouted Claudia. 

"To finally leaving this blasted city," yelled Shannon. 

"I second that!" echoed Dawn and Stacey. 

"To new friends," Mallory chimed in, throwing an arm around Gerhild. 

"How long does this go on?" asked Greer. 

Kristy scowled. "Do not interrupt the pizza toast! Now you've ruined the moment," She glowered at Greer, then clinked slices with Mary Anne. "Pizza toast," she grunted. 

"Pizza toast!" everyone else screamed, enthusiastically. 

I toasted with Abby, Shannon, Gerhild, and Jessi. I don't think Rastafarians are actually supposed to eat pizza, but Jessi and Heather practically inhaled an entire pie. I guess that's what two weeks of eating nothing but fruit does to a person. So much for being a dainty ballerina. 

After dinner, we spread out and relaxed. Kristy's whistle didn't make one appearance. I worked my way around the room, chatting with various girls. It turned out Heather and I both enjoy classical music (her favorite composer? Mahler. There really is no accounting for taste, I guess) and played the french horn in her elementary school band. We also admitted Corrie Lalique movies as our guiltiest of pleasures. I'm not sure where the Rastafarianism fit in (_cough cough_ poser _cough_). She acted like a normal girl from Iowa. (And really how many Rastafarians come from Iowa?) At least she didn't talk with an annoying faux-Jamaican accent like Jessi. 

Across the room, I spotted Gerhild talking with Stacey's friend, who was waving her arms wildly above her head. Gerhild had a frightened deer-caught-in-the-headlights look on her face. She scooted away discreetly. I noticed Gerhild didn't go near Daniela or Stacey the rest of the night. She did keep glancing at them and nudging her sister though. 

At ten on the dot, Kristy announced that the sleepover schedule indicated the time had come for ghost story telling. Dawn shot out of her chair in the shadows and ran to the center of the room. 

"Clearly this is my forte," said Dawn, taking a seat on the floor. "Everyone gather around me." 

Greer rolled her eyes. We sat in a sem-circle around Dawn, except Kristy who insisted on sitting in her newly reconstructed director's chair (and by "newly reconstructed" I mean "held together with a lot of duct tape"). Shannon sat on my right and Claudia on my left. Mallory and Mary Anne were already clutching each other's hands. I think a whimper even escaped Mary Anne's lips. 

"The first story starts in a town much like Stoneybrook," began Dawn in a voice so low it was nearly a whisper. "A new teacher had just moved to town. He was a young man, eager to start a family of his own. His first week in the town he met a lovely young woman named Cassandra. The peculiar thing was that Cassandra always wore a purple ribbon around her neck - " 

"Are you kidding me?" interrupted Greer. "My teacher read us this story in third grade!" 

Dawn ignored her and continued, "After only a few weeks of dating, the man proposed - " 

"Yeah, and she unties the ribbon and her head falls off. Next story," 

Dawn glared at Greer. It's a good thing Dawn had removed her sunglasses, otherwise I would have missed seeing the look that could chill Death. "Fine, now that that's been spoiled, I have no choice but to move on to the next story. Be forewarned, it's much scarier," Dawn cleared her throat and lowered her voice once more. "Laurie's parents were going away for just one night. They would be staying with an elderly aunt just one town over. Only fifteen, Laurie had never stayed alone overnight before. But she wasn't really alone. Her German Shepherd, Mack, would be with her all night - " 

_Thump_. Dawn stopped speaking. At first, I assumed Claudia had fallen over again. However, the noise had come from _above_ us. Silence fell around the room. Mallory's eyes widened in terror. Mary Anne sniffled. 

"Guys..." said Kristy, hesitantly," did you hear that?" 

Everyone nodded, except Greer who was rolling her eyes. Kristy and Dawn took deep breaths and exchanged worried glances. 

"It's the attic ghost!" cried Mallory. 

"The attic _what_?" exclaimed Shannon. 

"The attic ghost," Mallory repeated. "I hope it doesn't bring down your property value." 

Mary Anne and Jessi nodded frantically. Mallory and Mary Anne were white as a sheet. If Jessi wasn't black she'd probably have been too. 

Gerhild patted Mallory's hand. "Don't worry, Mallory. There's no such thing as ghosts," 

Just then, we heard several thumps on the roof. Everyone screamed. Greer was still rolling her eyes. I think I heard her mutter, "children" under her breath. 

"It sounds like someone's running up there," said Stacey. 

"Alan Gray!" shrieked Kristy. 

"How would Alan get on the roof?" I asked. 

"Probably climbed up the wall like the slimy insect he is!" Kristy huffed. 

"Haven't you seen the ladder?" asked Gerhild. "It goes up the side of the house onto the roof. There should be access from the roof into the - " 

"PANTY RAID!" Alan Gray screamed, barreling through the utility closet door. Georg Gegenhuber was behind him. They were dressed all in black with black ski masks. Alan had a yellow flower pinned to his shirt and squirted Mary Anne with it. 

"I'm going to rearrange your face, Alan Gray!" shouted Kristy, waving a fist in the air. "No respect for the sanctity of a BSC sleepover!" 

"Panty raid!" Alan screamed again, as he rushed around the room, throwing open half-packed suitcases. He started dancing with Claudia's sequin and bottle cap panties on his head, while twirling a pair of Abby's white cotton ones on his hand. Georg was doing the twist on a night table with some red satin panties on his head. 

"Those are mine, Georg!" shouted Gerhild, shoving him off the night table. Unfortunately, he landed on Claudia. By then, I'd lost count as to how many times she'd fallen over that night. 

The next five minutes were spent chasing Alan and Georg around the attic. Kristy tore apart her director's chair, so she, Abby, and Shannon could chase them with the rolling pins. They left the fourth one on the floor, so of course, Claudia eventually slipped on it, flew through the air, and knocked herself and Greer out for several minutes. Stacey, Heather, and I finally tackled Alan to the floor and liberated Jessi's training bra from his pants and Dawn's granny panties from his mouth. Gerhild had Georg in a headlock while Gudrun forced him to smell Kristy's dirty socks. 

"Where's Daniela?" Stacey asked, panic rising in her voice. 

"She ran out as soon as Alan screamed 'raid'," Shannon replied. 

Alan jumped up off the ground, breathing heavily, but still laughing. "Well, well, miladies. How was that for some sleepover excitement? Way to send the Amsterdam adventure out with a bang, eh?" 

"I'll bang you," growled Kristy. 

"Would you please?" Alan replied. 

"Let's go up on the roof," Abby suggested before Alan and Kristy got down and dirty in one way or another. 

Alan and Georg showed us the trap door in the utility closet. A little wooden ladder pulled down from it. No one had spent enough time in the utility closet to notice the door or the ladder. Alan and Georg held the ladder steady for us (it was pretty old) as we climbed up one by one. 

"Oh my Lord! This is gorgeous," Claudia exclaimed. "I've found the theme for my next garage art show," 

The view _was_ breathtaking. No doubt the loveliest view in all of Amsterdam. It had been right there all along and we almost missed out on it. Sometimes Alan's helpful in ways he does not intend. 

We stood out on the roof, clustered near the edge and just gazed out on the city. Lights from the other houses shone bright in the dark, warm night. Below us, the canal water appeared calm and refreshing under the moonlight. Abby slipped her arm around my waist and rested her head on my shoulder. In a twin moment, we sighed at the same time. I reached out to clutch Shannon's hand. I squeezed it tight. At that moment, not even Shannon could think Amsterdam such a horrible a place. 


	31. Shannon Chapter 31

_Hello Bart! _

You probably thought I forgot about you. Well, I did! Just kidding. It's our last few hours in Amsterdam. We'll be leaving Verbruggenhuis as soon as Mom and Mrs. Carson free Claudia's head from the banister. (One thing I learned on this trip: never accept a bet with Alan Gray). 

Oh, Mom's calling. Claudia's free and it's time to leave. (Finally!) 

See you in Stoneybrook, 

Shannon 

Verbruggenhuis was a madhouse Saturday morning. I always thought it was nuts at the Thomas-Brewer and Pike houses. I was wrong. Imagine nine teenage girls, three pre-teens, two kids, two chaperones, and a contraband goon running up and down the stairs, screaming at each other, refereeing arguments, and all while attempting to finish packing. It was a nightmare. 

Certain people weren't helping calm the chaos either. Kristy made an attempt in her usual bossy, whistle-blowing way until Anna snapped and tried to strangle her with the whistle lanyard. Greer and I took our time pulling them apart. Abby was driving everyone crazy walking around saying, "_Das ist gutes Wasser_," some German phrase one of the Gegenhubers unfortunately taught her. Jessi was in some kind of a funk (and not to mention smelling funky). And Dawn had reached new levels of bizarreness by insisting on wearing a long gray trenchcoat and bowler hat to the airport. 

"Ten minutes, girls! Ten minutes!" Mom called from the foyer. 

Kristy, Dawn, Jessi, Anna, and I were already downstairs and ready to go. We had our suitcases piled on the front stoop, awaiting the arrival of our caravan of taxis. From where we stood, we could see Claudia, Stacey, Tiffany, and Greer running frantically across the second floor landing. 

"I'm all ready!" Mallory yelled from the top of the stairs. 

Mom screamed. And fainted. 

Well, not exactly. She screamed, stumbled, and fell to the ground. She might as well fainted though. I would have had I been Mallory's chaperone. 

Mallory had dreadlocks. 

"Why are you ripping off my style, mon? That's so stale," cried Jessi. 

Mallory flipped the long, thick dreads over her shoulder. The dreads only went halfway up her hair. They didn't look exactly like dreads either. More like a combination of dreads and frizzy ringlets. Maybe curly-headed people aren't meant for dreaded hair. 

"Jessi, I'm not trying to rip you off. I know how stale that would be!" protested Mallory. "I'm trying to stand with you. I heard you argue with Heather last night. I'm so glad you decided not to go with her to Ethiopia. I want to be best friends again. You're going to catch a lot of grief about your hair in Stoneybrook. I thought we should present a united front." 

Jessi wiped a tear from her eye. "Oh, Mal!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around Mallory. 

I raised my eyebrows at Anna, who mouthed, "Ethiopia?" at me. I shrugged. I never understand a thing Mallory and Jessi say. 

"The taxis are here!" Dawn announced, slipping on her sunglasses. 

It took another fifteen minutes to get everyone and their suitcases loaded in the taxis. Mom, Tiffany, Maria, and I rode together in one taxi. (Mom insisted). Mrs. Carson, Kristy, Dawn, Abby, and Amanda rode in the second taxi. Claudia, Stacey, Jessi, Greer, and Anna were in the third taxi. Mary Anne and Mallory rode to the airport with the Gegenhubers in Gudrun's car. 

Just as our taxi was about to pull into traffic, Alan slipped into the front seat. He turned and tipped his fedora at us. "Ladies," he said. 

Mom leaned over and whispered to me. "Why isn't that boy riding with his family?" 

I shrugged, praying Alan wouldn't blow his cover. 

As we drove away from Verbruggenhuis, Mom cleared her throat. "Girls, I've come to a decision about the house," she started. 

"We're keeping it, right?" shouted Maria. "Pleeeease?" 

"We're _not_ keeping, right?" I said, an edge to my voice. I never wanted to see Amsterdam again. 

"Shh, girls. I've done a lot of thinking about the house. Of course, I love Verbruggenhuis - I spent much of my childhood there - and will always love it. However, I don't think it's practical to keep a house in a country so far away. It's time to let go. It's some other family's turn to enjoy the house and make memories there," 

I felt a pang of sadness. Not over the house or Amsterdam. The sadness was for Mom and all she'd lose with Verbruggenhuis - her memories, her history, a part of her childhood self. "I think you've made the right decision, Mom," I said, quietly. 

"Me too," echoed Tiffany. "I don't think I ever want to come back here again," 

"I thought you had fun?" asked Mom, startled. 

Tiffany shrugged. "I did. I'd rather see other places, I guess," 

"Well, I think this stinks!" Maria exclaimed. 

"We don't get all the things we want, sweetie," replied Mom. 

"Tell me about it," Alan grumbled. 

I kicked the back of his seat. 

We were extremely early for our flight. Mom and Mrs. Carson thought we'd enjoy looking around the Schiphol airport for awhile. We broke into our own little groups and set off into the shops. Tiffany had forgotten her promise to Linny and Hannie Papadakis (wooden clogs in exchange for their watering her garden), so we had to search for those. I bought David Michael a box of Dutch chocolates for looking after Astrid. (I'd already bought him a t-shirt). 

"Oh my freaking Lord!" Tiffany shrieked, as she, Anna, Greer, and I left a store. "Claudia's totally getting busted!" 

"The Dam police!" Abby shouted from a nearby kiosk. 

We stared in shock and horror as Claudia stood with her hands above her head on the other side of the airport. Two policemen were searching through her canvas tote bag (painted to look like a famous van Gogh painting). A German Shepherd sat beside the policemen, staring at Claudia as if daring her to make a sudden movement. 

"What is going on!" Mom yelled, running out of a store. She began arguing with the policemen, who finally led both her and Claudia away. 

"Mom's getting arrested!" exclaimed Tiffany. "This is so awesome!" 

"I don't think it's dibble at all," replied Mallory, crossly. 

"Are we allowed to leave without your Mom and Claudia?" asked Dawn. "I'd really like to get out of the country." 

"No one's getting arrested," I assured everyone. "This is some kind of misunderstanding. Claudia probably set off a metal detector with that tinfoil skirt she has on. My mom will straighten it all out." 

We waited an hour. Mrs. Carson tried to find out what was going on, but no one would answer her questions. Mary Anne and Georg left to buy a candy bar and returned twenty minutes later, appearing quite disheveled. Mallory and Jessi started a gum chain. Gerhild didn't understand its purpose (neither did I) and she and Mallory got into an argument over it. It was definitely time to get out of Amsterdam. 

Finally, Mom and Claudia reappeared. I'd never seen Mom look so mad. Her face was beet red. Smoke was practically billowing out her ears. Claudia looked very confused. (Not at all unusual for Claudia). Her tinfoil skirt was missing (so was her canvas bag) and instead she wore a pair of gray sweatpants. They didn't look too good with her spandex leotard and feather boa. 

"To the plane, girls. _Now_," Mom commanded. 

"I don't understand," mumbled Claudia. "I just don't understand," 

We had to say our final goodbyes to the Gegenhubers then. They were an odd bunch, but nice. Georg gave Mary Anne a farewell gift - tiny silver handcuffs on a silver chain. He was stranger than I thought. Mary Anne burst into tears. Gerhild gave Mallory a gift, too, but made Mallory promise not to open it until halfway across the Atlantic. After final hugs and well wishes, we left for our terminal. In her fuming anger, Mom didn't notice Alan following us. (Kristy forced him to buy a plane ticket, for the sake of the BSC's reputation). 

Our seats were scattered around the plane again. Greer, Anna, Abby, and I were seated near the front in the middle row. Jessi, Mallory, and Kristy were two rows behind us. Across the aisle, Stacey, Tiffany, and Dawn shared a row. In the row behind them sat Maria and Amanda. Claudia and Mary Anne were somewhere at the back of the plane. Mom and Mrs. Carson were in first class again. 

"Where's Alan?" asked Greer, as the plane began taxiing down the runway. 

"In the back bothering Claudia and Mary Anne, I guess," I replied. 

Across the aisle, Stacey and Tiffany looked depressed. They'd seemed so much more cheerful in the airport. I'd hoped whatever was bothering them had passed. I guess without distractions they had time to sit and stew over whatever secrets they were keeping. I wished Tiffany would have divulged hers to me. However, we lost that sisterly closeness sometime ago, that closeness that allows a person to reveal themselves without fear of judgment or betrayal. If I had a secret, I probably wouldn't tell it to Tiffany either. 

Next to the window, Dawn appeared calm and relieved. Whatever her secret, I'd rather not know it. 

"Hello, ladies!" a voice sang out. 

We all looked up. Alan was standing in the doorway between first class and coach, the curtain pushed aside. He held a giant chocolate and caramel sundae in his right hand. 

"Guess who got bumped to first class?" he smirked. 

"You've got to be kidding me!" Kristy yelled, jumping up in her seat and knocking over an old man's ginger ale. "That is so unfair!" 

Alan laughed as a flight attendant hurried over to Kristy and tried to force Kristy back into her seat. 

"This isn't fair! He shouldn't get to fly first class! He shipped himself to Amsterdam in a dog carrier!" Kristy ranted. 

It was so embarrassing. 

"Can you believe that girl?" Anna asked, loudly. 

"The nerve of some people," replied Greer. "I'm glad I don't know her." 

"I agree!" cried Anna. 

"_Das ist gutes Wasser_," said Abby. 

Reclining slightly in my seat, I closed my eyes. When I opened them again we were touching down in the good old U.S.A. 


	32. Epilogue

So that was our trip to Amsterdam. Looking back maybe it wasn't _quite_ as horrible as I thought. We did have some good times. It's not every day a girl hops a train to Switzerland to meet a dog. Even though the trip ended weeks before, letters still passed between us and our new friends: 

_-Greer - _

Hello, milady. Thought it would be gentlemanly to let you know why I've not returned any of your calls. I'm grounded. And it's all thanks to Stacey McGill. I would have gotten away with sneaking off to Amsterdam if not for her. The genius sent a postcard to Barbara Hirsch saying I was in Amsterdam. Barbara's parents read the postcard, called my parents, and you can figure out the rest. My parents let me go on and on about Myrtle Beach for three whole days. Now I'm grounded for the next five years. So, got any plans five years from now? Let's do lunch.

- Alan

Hey Heather,

Have you been getting my letters? I've not heard from you. You have returned from Ethiopia, right?

Like I said in my other letters, my family freaked out over my dreads. They are such slaves to Babylon. I had to shave my head. I have a little hair left. I look just like my aunt Cecelia, which is pretty stale. A lot of people around the neighborhood have been pointing at me. Some people are such racists. Mama and Daddy made me stop talking like a Jamaican, too.

Your friend, Jessi

_Hello Mallory, _

Thank you for the postcard from New York. I am in Austria again. It's very nice to be home with my father. I told him all about you. He says you must come for a visit! Maybe over Christmas or in the early summer?

Love,

Gerhild

P.S. I am sorry your brothers called you Medusa-Head. It is probably best you cut off the dreadlocks. I do not believe Gudrun and I did such a good job.

Dear Silke,

Hi! Remember me? We met a couple weeks ago. I am the owner of your granddaughter, Shannon. Just wanted to let you know what an honor it was to meet you. My friends feel the same way. Shannon (the human) and Anna send their love.

Unfortunately, I have some bad news about my friend, Claudia. (Remember, the one with the pails who tried to wear your collar as a belt?) Apparently, unbeknownst to us, Claudia got addicted to something called cannabis while in Amsterdam. I don't know all the details, but Claudia's parents thought she'd kicked the habit. Well, last week Claudia got caught in a sting operation behind Pizza Express buying this cannabis stuff from a kid named T-Jam. Rather than give herself up willingly, Claudia made a run for it. She stole Old Man Finkelstein's electric scooter, then ten feet later crashed into Mr. Gardella's Miata. Her parents have since checked her into a juvenile rehab center. I just know this is going to affect club business.

I have to walk Shannon now. I'll write again soon!

---Kristy

_Deer BSC Mimburs, _

Hi evrybudy! Cladia here. I em dooing relly good in reehab. The cownsalers say my progras is stedy. I shood git owt sooon. Yay me! Dont wurry. I im no longur adiktid to kanibas. I stil dont even no whut that is.

Yur frend,

Claudea

Dere Charlee Tomus,

Ashlee Whyuth said yue cood hook me up. I dont hav eny munny. (No bebysiting jobs in hear. I axksed). Wood ewe tack sum junck fuud art as colatturol?

Yure sisteer's freind,

Cluada

_Dear Mrs. Kilbourne, _

My mom says I have to write this. Thank you for taking me to Amsterdam. I had fun, even though you made me sleep on a futon.

Thanks,

Amanda Delaney

P.S. We just bought a Pomeranian. She cost three hundred dollars.

Hi Gerhild,

I'm having a really bad week. The triplets won't stop calling me Medusa. Actually, it might just be Jordan and Byron. I don't remember seeing Adam since I returned from Amsterdam. I have too many siblings. It's hard to keep track of them. Plus, the triplets look alike.

Your Latin is really stale. I don't think Kama Sutra means what you said it means. I gave the book to Ben as planned. He was really excited. He agreed it would bring us closer together. He suggested we go into the Genealogy room. (We were on a library date). I'm really not sure what happened next. It's all kind of a blur. I vaguely recall screaming, then Ben screaming, then Mrs. Kishi screaming. Now Ben's doo-dad is sprained. The doctors fear he may never father children. His parents are very angry. I assured them that I was not opposed to adoption. That didn't seem to comfort them. Ben's not allowed to see me anymore and I'm not allowed to see him. We're just like Romeo and Juliet. It would be much more romantic if my parents let me get contacts.

Write back soon,

Mallory

_Hello Orchid: _

You probably never expected to hear from me again. I didn't think you would be either. I was wondering if you'd give Stas a heads up for me. Let him know that Stamford Health Services will soon be contacting him. You should probably let Daniela know too.

I'm still confused about what went on in Amsterdam. Even more confusing, I think I still love Stas. At least a tiny piece of me does. Maybe that tiny piece will always love him. Do you think I'm foolish? Oh, I don't have to ask that. I know you think so. I still want to know your real name.

Sincerely, Stacey McGill

P.S. Going home isn't half as hard as you'd think.

Hi Dawn -

You've not been answering our letters, despite our assurances that we will protect your identity. We need a few good people on the outside continuing to fight the murderous corporate machine. Are you that person, Dawn? Are you fighting the power?

Chain yourself to a tree and set it free!

Suzanne van Dort and Johanna van Rijn

_Dearest Stacey, _

You've not sent me your new address as promised. I'm worried about you. Did our time in Amsterdam mean nothing? I thought you loved me. I know I love you. I'm sending this in care of Boston College's Housing Services. I pray it makes its way to you. Otherwise, I'll drive to Massachusetts and track you down myself.

I love you,

Tyson

Georg -

You must stop sending me nude photographs of yourself. Sharon found one, but luckily forgot and cooked it in a vegetable lasagna. As much as I treasured our time together this must come to an end. Yes, you sent shock waves through my body, and yes, you taught me how to really scream, but it's over. I'm back with Logan. I know he's a liar and a cheat, but he looks like Cam Geary.

- Mary Anne

_Dear Miss McGill: _

We've never met, but my name is Cordelia Vankerbergen. I own a small store in the Red Light District. I am also your number one fan. I am the proud owner of not only your girl-on-girl video, but also your hard-to-find collected works featuring that studly blonde fellow. He appears in many of my videos, but you, my dear, are something special. I was disappointed to hear you've left the business. I'm planning a trip to America soon. I'll be visiting some old friends in Dayton, however, I'd love to swing by Connecticut. Perhaps we could meet?

Best regards,

Fraulein Cordelia Vankerbergen

Dear Mrs. Kilbourne and Mrs. Carson,

Thank you so much for taking us to Amsterdam. We had a dibble time! Thanks for all the great memories. Amsterdam's a place we won't soon forget!

Thanks again!

Kristy, Claudia, Stacey, Mary Anne, Dawn, Abby, Mallory, Jessi, and Shannon

(a.k.a. The Baby-Sitters Club)

* * *

And that's the end of _Amsterdam! Amsterdam!_ It's been fun (mostly)writing this story and I'm thrilled so many people have enjoyed it. There is no better reward than the knowledge that othersappreciate your writing. Now I'd like to give special thanks to a few people:

**emerald-doll**: _Amsterdam! Amsterdam!_ would not have been written if not for her. The entire idea was a joke, but she pushed me to actually write it. I didn't think I could do a Super Special (and yes, it was just as much work as I feared). **Emerald-doll** convinced me I could and should do it. Without her encouragement (and pestering) this story never would have seen the light of day. So, thank you **emerald-doll** for your constructive criticism, ideas, encouragement, for being a great friend, and for everything else.

**blanket apologist**: We met halfway through my writing _Amsterdam! Amsterdam!_ and she quickly became important to its writing. She nagged, gave encouragement, told me what worked and what didn't. _Amsterdam! Amsterdam!_ would not have finished so early without her. Thank you, **blanket apologist** for all your help.

My friend **Manuela**, who has never actually reviewed my story, but claims to have read it. She corrected my horrible German and provided me with many wonderful names of people she hates inreal life. (Gerhild, anyone?)

And of course, I must thank all my fabulous reviewers. How dibble it is to check my inbox and find a new review there. With your lovely reviews, advice, humor,and occasional criticism you motivated me to write the best story possible. I hope I have written a story worthy of your praise and expectations. I wish I could mention you all by name. Special thanks to those who have reviewed multiple times (you know who you are). Yours are reviews I look forward to receiving, as they always prove helpful and hilarious. I'd like to point out that **McKay1** has reviewed about every chapter since the story began. Now that's dedication.

Any questions on _Amsterdam! Amsterdam!_ may be directed to my e-mail or asked in review. Questions in the review section will probably be answered in my profile.

P.S. Jessi's still black.


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